


i-80 west

by socallmedaisy



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 96,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socallmedaisy/pseuds/socallmedaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brittany and Santana graduate high school and spend one last summer in Lima before heading off to college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Super thanks to JJ at themostrandomfandom for all the cheerleading and handholding, listening to me ramble and whine, offering thoughtful answers to my panicky questions, and amazing betaing. I really couldn't have written this without her. #brotp: with the u and everything.
> 
> Shoutout to my girlfriend for her supernatural ability to spot typos over my shoulder from three feet away.

It feels like the ceremony takes hours.

There are more speeches than she’s ever had to sit through before, and she shifts in her seat, kicking her heels against the floor, not really paying attention. She has this weird feeling of second-hand embarrassment, like hearing their teachers talk about them growing up is so clichéd that she doesn’t know what to do with herself, and she doesn’t understand how they think, having survived at McKinley for four years, that they’re not grown up already.

She still doesn’t understand how getting a piece of paper with your name on it means you’re an adult, but why confessions at lockers and having your secrets shouted out in a hallway before you’re ready doesn’t.

She doesn’t understand why throwing a hat in the air means you’re moving on to the next stage of your life, but falling asleep wrapped in the arms of someone you love, someone who loves you back, doesn’t.

She only starts to pay attention again when Quinn climbs up on stage and walks over to the podium carefully, as though she’s trying to hide the little bit of a limp still twisting her steps. Quinn swallows before she starts to speak, measured words about how they all overcame adversity and how they can be anything they want to be now, and for the first time the words don’t feel like a cliché. She finishes with the usual Valedictorian fluff–talking about how she’s so proud to be a member of this graduating class even though Santana’s pretty sure she hates 95% of it–and then she’s walking back to her seat in the row in front of Santana slowly, while everyone claps and murmurs to their neighbours.

Santana thinks she can hear Brittany cheering from the rows behind her, and she claps louder than any of the people sitting around her except for maybe Sam and Mike in the row in front, and when Quinn sits down, Sam reaches an arm around her to ruffle her hair and pulls her into his side until she’s hugging him back and hiding her grin in his shoulder. 

When Sam lets her go, Santana leans forward to nudge Quinn in the back with her fingers, using the dying sound of clapping as cover to whisper, “I still think you should have just told them to go fuck themselves.” 

Quinn shakes her head a little but Santana can see the hint of a smile on her lips, and she huffs out a laugh before she says, “I’m glad you liked the speech, Santana.”

+

When Figgins starts to call their names, she straightens the front of her robes nervously and shuffles out to the end of her row, heart beating a too-quick tempo against her ribs. She didn’t feel nervous a moment ago but she does now, suddenly sure she’s going to trip on her way to the stage or go up when he calls someone else’s name instead of her own. 

She kind of feels like falling flat on her face in front of a crowd of people would be the perfect end to her high school experience, somehow.

She keeps her eyes on the steps as she climbs them, following the rest of her row until Figgins calls her name, then she crosses the stage to shake his hand and take her diploma with shaking fingers. 

It’s like the sound switches back on all of a sudden, like her ears pop and then start to work again, and suddenly all she can hear is Brittany cheering from the crowd.

She walks down the steps the other side with a smile on her face, not bothering to look to see where she’s going because her eyes are fixed on Brittany and the way she’s clapping her hands over her head and cheering for her, like she’s just single-handedly won them Nationals or something. She curls her fingers into a wave when she realises Santana is watching her, and Santana grins and waves back as she files back into the seats with the rest of her row, clutching her diploma tightly in her hand like she never wants to let it go. 

+

When Figgins calls Brittany’s name, Santana’s cheering is drowned out by Sam and Mike, pumping their fists and catcalling Brittany’s name. Santana tries to raise her voice, but the boys just get louder, until Santana pushes at the back of Sam’s head, startling him enough that he stops and turns around to look at her.

“What was that for?” he complains, rubbing at his head as Mike breaks off to look at them.

“Get your own girl to cheer for, Trouty,” Santana says without any real malice, clapping her hands over her head until Brittany catches her eye, faint blush on her cheeks as she ducks her head shyly on her way down the steps. 

“I did,” Sam says earnestly, and Santana can tell he’s fighting hard to keep a smirk off his face. “That’s why I cheered for you.”

Mike pretends to gag next to her and Quinn bursts out laughing at the look of incredulity on Santana’s face, which lasts for exactly a second before she rolls her eyes and says, “Where the hell do you come up with this shit,” as Sam bursts out laughing.

+

After, when they’re supposed to stand and throw their caps in the air, Santana keeps hers on her head. Brittany had made her promise that they’d throw their hats together, and she pushes her way out of her row and further back towards where Brittany was sitting quickly, not even stopping when Quinn calls after her. It takes about ten seconds before Brittany comes flying at her, blonde hair all unruly under her cap and a huge grin fixed on her face. She reaches up to steady her cap as she comes to a stop, and her other hand clutches her diploma the same way Santana’s does; like she still can’t quite believe it’s real.

Santana holds her diploma out in front of her like a wine glass during a toast, and Brittany brings hers up to knock against it, giggling when they cross like swords and Santana parries a couple of imaginary blows, just because.

“I can’t believe we graduated,” Brittany says excitedly, pulling her diploma back towards her chest and cradling it with her arms. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Britt-Britt,” Santana says solemnly, “Everyone knows you don’t graduate until you throw your hat.”

“Right,” Brittany agrees at once, nodding to herself like she can’t believe she forgot. “So are you ready?” She plucks her cap from her head and swings it loosely in her hand, grinning again. 

Santana doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of seeing Brittany smile like that.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of causing it either.

Santana bites her lip to keep herself from grinning, trying to keep a serious expression on her face like the moment demands. “On three?” Brittany nods so Santana starts counting down, watching the way Brittany winds up to take the throw and starting to grin a little in spite of herself.

When she gets to one, Brittany throws her cap as hard as she can, and they stand side by side and watch them spinning around each other in the sunlight. Brittany steps closer while Santana’s face is still angled upwards, and she feels Brittany’s fingers creep into her own, tangling tightly, the warmth of her pressed into her side. It’s kind of perfect, standing there in the sunlight, watching their caps fall back towards them, and Santana feels like something imperceptible has shifted, like they’re poised on the brink of something she doesn’t quite understand. 

She shivers a little despite the sun beating down on them and presses herself closer into Brittany’s side.

Just before their hats get back to them, Brittany turns and presses a quick kiss to her cheek, whispering, “I love you,” against her skin softly. Then she’s spinning away and letting go of Santana’s hand, catching her falling hat just before it hits the ground. Santana almost misses hers but years of Cheerios-honed reflexes help her catch it clumsily, blushing when Brittany looks at her with a little bit of a smirk, like she knows she flustered Santana with her kiss.

She sucks in a shaky breath as she stands there, seeing the way Brittany glances at her again and then looks down shyly, smirk turning back into a happy smile, and feels herself blush in return. 

Faintly, in the back of her mind, she thinks she’s starting to understand why graduation means growing up.

“What are you thinking about?” Brittany asks after a moment, her eyes fixing on Santana like she’s a puzzle she’s trying to work out.

“You,” Santana tells her honestly, watching as Brittany’s eyes get soft and she nods a little, accepting her answer. Santana tilts her head and offers Brittany her pinky, “Come on. Let’s go find our parents.”

+

They find their friends first. Sam stands next to Quinn like a shield, holding his arms out to stop people from walking into her as she picks her way through their classmates, Mike trailing along behind them with one eye back towards the way their parents are all sitting, looking for Tina. 

Quinn’s produced her camera from somewhere, one of those proper big ones with different lenses that Brittany knows all about but baffle Santana, and when Quinn spots them in the crowd she narrows her eyes at them and starts to move faster, “We have to take a photo together!”

“Oh god,” Santana breathes, as Brittany comes to a stop and uses their joined hands to hold Santana in place, “Start running.” 

Brittany laughs and nudges her with her hip, “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Santana whispers back quickly, almost the truth, and fixes a smile on her face when the others reach them.

Quinn eyes them critically for a moment, and then reaches over to straighten Brittany’s robes a little, until Brittany chuckles and bats her hands away to do it herself. “Mike’s gonna take a photo of us,” Quinn says in a way that brooks no argument, holding her camera out over her shoulder without looking, until Mike takes it with a sigh and tells them to bunch together.

Santana ends up in the middle; Brittany pressed into her side with an arm slung over her shoulder and Quinn on the other, arm looped through Santana’s and leaning against her in a way that they’ve all gotten used to pretending they don’t see in the last couple of months. 

They grin for the first photo, and then pull horrible faces for the second while the boys laugh, and then they take turns taking photos of each other — Quinn and Santana grinning at Brittany dancing a few hip-hop steps out of shot; Mike lifting Brittany over his shoulder and spinning round; Sam lifting Santana off her feet while she tries to sock him; Brittany and Santana gazing at each other adoringly until Mike tells them that’s enough because he thinks he might be sick — and it’s nice to spend ten minutes just goofing around with her friends, without having to worry about anything else. 

She forgets, for a second, that they have anywhere else to be.

Quinn’s mom appears as Santana’s taking a photo of Brittany and Quinn — Brittany wrapping Quinn in a bear hug and then lifting her off her feet — and she taps Santana on the shoulder and holds out her hand for the camera with a smile on her face. “Let me take a photo of all of you.” 

They bunch together quickly, the girls in the middle with the boys flanking them, and just before Mrs. Fabray tells them to smile, Quinn moves a little closer to Santana and whispers, “Can you believe we all survived high school?”

She thinks it’s supposed to sound casual but Santana catches the tremble in Quinn’s voice and glances at her quickly, eyes lingering a little until Quinn shakes her head in a tiny nod that means she’s okay. She still hasn’t really gotten use to this, still doesn’t know exactly what to do, but she reaches for Quinn’s hand hidden between their bodies and gives her fingers a squeeze, hoping it’s enough. Quinn only hesitates for a second before she slides her fingers into the gaps between Santana’s and holds on tight, looking past Santana to find Brittany smiling at the both of them.

Santana smiles brightly for the camera, surrounded by her friends, and just before the camera goes off she whispers, “No, I can’t.”

+

Sam leaves to find Mercedes and Mike leaves to find Tina, and they leave Quinn with her mom so they can go and find their own parents, hidden somewhere amongst the crowd. It doesn’t take them long; they spot Brittany’s sister first, swinging from Brittany’s mom’s hand as she chats to Santana’s parents. 

She still feels a little bit funny whenever their parents are interacting and they’re not there, like they might be saying all sorts of embarrassing things and she has no way of stopping them, and she glances at Brittany quickly, expression stricken. Brittany laughs and gives her a nudge with her shoulder, reaching for her hand to pull her over to them and interrupt the moment.

“Congratulations!” Mrs. Pierce spots them coming before anyone else, beaming at them over Santana’s mother’s shoulder in a way that makes her look even more like Brittany than usual.

When her parents turn to look at her, Santana isn’t ready for the way her heart tightens in her chest at the matching proud expressions on their faces, and she swallows and blinks a couple of times, just to make sure they’re really there.

Before she can say anything, Brittany’s sister comes flying at them, taking a leap just before she gets there so Brittany is forced to catch her to stop her from face-planting into the ground. Brittany swings her around wildly, laughing the whole time, and then drops her back to her feet when she starts shrieking so loudly that people turn to stare.

Santana watches Ashley shove at her sister, then jump and try to pull Brittany’s cap off her head, failing miserably as Brittany dodges easily and sticks her tongue out, suddenly looking no older than her sister as she sing-songs that Ashley can’t have it. Ashley jumps again while Brittany grins, standing on her tip toes to make herself even taller and out of reach.

Santana rolls her eyes and steps closer, deliberately putting her cap onto Ashley’s head before straightening the tassel. “Looking good, Pint-sized,” she says lightly, as the cap slides over to the side when Ashley turns to look at her with wide eyes.

“Can I keep it?” Ashley asks immediately, hands reaching up to straighten it carefully, all thoughts of fighting with her sister suddenly forgotten.

“Ashley,” Mr. Pierce says warningly, and Santana watches as Ashley’s face falls into a scowl she’s fairly sure Ashley learnt from her, and then Brittany steps forward and pulls her own cap off her head.

“You can have mine,” Brittany says, suddenly sober as though she’s forgotten the teasing of a moment before. She drops to her knees gracefully in front of her sister and swaps the hats quickly, giving Santana a look over her shoulder. “We’re gonna need Santana’s at college, so we remember today.” She grips Santana’s cap in her hands, long fingers stroking the material, and looks over at Santana again quickly, eyes shining as she offers the cap back to her. 

“You keep it,” Santana says in a little bit of a rush, quietly so only they can hear.

“Okay,” Brittany murmurs, nodding her head once as she grasps it more tightly. The silence stretches for a moment as they look at each other happily, lost in their own little world, and then Brittany’s mom calls, “Pictures!” and they look away at the same time, smiling softly.

+

In the first photo, they stand side by side, clasped hands hidden by the folds of their robes, gripping their diplomas in their hands and smiling brightly for the camera. Santana is aware of her mom watching them with soft eyes and an unreadable expression on her face, and it still makes her awkward, somehow, unsure how to behave. She holds her arms stiffly at her sides, and leans away from Brittany, even though every inch of her wants to lean in more closely. 

It’s stupid because they haven’t got anything to hide any more, but she still feels this weird need to be respectful, like she’s some dorky kid in an old fifties movie. It’s for the same reason that she occasionally gets this irrational urge to call Brittany’s dad sir even though she’s known him since she was five, and why she won’t call Brittany’s mom by her given name no matter how many times she tells her to. It’s sort of lame, she knows that, but she feels like if she gets these little things right, then she’ll get the big ones right too, especially when it comes to Brittany and her family. 

She wants so desperately to get it right.

Brittany’s mom gets this look on her face as she peers through the viewfinder, like she’s actually offended, and Santana can feel Brittany shifting next to her restlessly, like she wants to move closer. Mrs. Pierce snaps another photo when they move slightly, glancing at each other out of the corners of their eyes, and then she exhales loudly and glances over at her husband and Santana’s parents, watching with quizzical expressions.

“Is this really how you want your graduation photos to look?” Mrs. Pierce bursts out finally, fingers tightening reflexively around the camera.

Santana hears Brittany whisper, “No,” and then she’s being pulled into a sideways hug as Brittany presses them together and curls around her.

In the next photo, they’re wrapped up in each other, Brittany’s arms around Santana, her grinning face hidden in Santana’s shoulder, while Santana laughs like she never wants to stop.

+

Santana offers to take a photo of Brittany and her family, and Mrs. Pierce looks at her oddly and says, “But you’ll be in it,” in a way that makes it sound obvious, like she can’t believe that Santana had forgotten. 

Santana flushes happily, and smiles down at the floor, until Brittany nudges her with her shoulder and says anxiously, “Don’t you want to be in the photo?”

It’s so ridiculous that Santana just stares at her for a minute before she realises Brittany is waiting for an answer, and then she says, “Of course I do,” and watches a slow smile bloom on Brittany’s face.

“Okay,” she says happily, reaching for her hand to pull her back towards her parents. 

Brittany loops an arm around her waist, pulling her closer against her side, and she leans into the contact, her hand resting on the small of Brittany’s back against her spine. She’s trembling, though she’s not entirely sure why, and Brittany tightens her grip on Santana’s hip to try to steady her.

Her mother takes the photo quickly, but Mrs. Pierce makes her take another one because Ashley was pulling her face, and in between Brittany turns and sees Santana looking at her so she leans over and kisses the corner of her mouth quickly, like she can’t help herself. 

+

They’re heading for their cars in the parking lot, Brittany and Santana ahead of their parents and waiting for them, when Ashley tucks herself against Santana’s legs with a thud, arms wrapping around her waist as she peers up at her, “Are you coming back to our house? For the party?”

“You’re very welcome too, of course,” Mrs Pierce adds as their parents catch up to them and come to a stop nearby. Santana’s father shakes his head and explains that he’s on call all night while Mrs. Pierce clucks her tongue in sympathy, and Santana tunes out the words in favour of spending a last few moments just looking at Brittany to make up for the three hours they’ll be spending apart.

It’s the kind of thing that’d make her bite out some snarky comment if any of their friends did it, but then they don’t have anyone as perfect as Brittany to gaze at, so.

Brittany catches her watching and smiles bashfully, and Santana grins back until Ashley speaks and interrupts the moment, tightening her grip around Santana again. “Are you coming, Santana?” she asks, not the slightest bit interested in what the adults are saying or that she’s interrupting anything. 

“I have to go see my abuela, Ash,” Santana leans down and tussles her hair. “But I’ll be there later, okay?” She looks up to find Brittany when she says the last part, addressing her as well, and Brittany nods.

“What’s an abuela?” Ashley asks, as Brittany prises her off of Santana.

“Her grandma,” Brittany replies quickly, trying to herd her in the direction of their mother and the car. 

“Well why didn’t she just say that?” Ashley asks no one in particular, and Santana snorts a little in spite of herself. 

Sometimes, she wonders what Ashley would be like if she and Brittany hadn’t babysat for her whole life. (When Santana asks later, Brittany says she wouldn’t be as awesome.)

Her parents have already started towards their car, so Santana steps closer to Brittany and pulls her into a hug, fitting their bodies together so that there’s no space between them. “I’ll come straight over after,” she says into blonde hair, feeling Brittany ghost kisses against her jaw.

When they break apart, Brittany holds her hands and looks at her for a moment, in that way that makes Santana think Brittany is really looking straight through her and into her soul, and then she nods and says, “Give my love to your grandma.”

“I always do.”

+

On the way home, she sits in the backseat in silence, smiling softly and a little bit drunk on the emotion of it all, staring out of the window watching the houses go by. Her diploma is still clenched loosely in her fist, and she unrolls it just to make sure it’s real and not some final trick being played on her. She traces the words carefully, reading them one at a time, and wonders if Brittany’s is the same. 

She should have asked to see it, she thinks, before she left, just to make sure. 

+

Santana walks straight through her front door and into her abuela’s arms.

Her abuela hugs the same way that Brittany does: arms wrapped around her tightly, warm presence all around her keeping her safe. She’s barely taller than Santana in her heels, so Santana tucks her chin into the space between her shoulder and neck, smiling where no one can see.

“Congratulations, Santana honey,” her grandmother murmurs into her hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

Santana nods her head against her abuela’s shoulder, not trusting herself to speak as she feels tears at the corners of her eyes, and then her father says, “We all are,” from somewhere behind her and she’s suddenly swallowing against the lump in her throat and sucking in a shaky breath as the tears threaten to fall. 

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry today but she’s not made of stone, and she still remembers what it felt like when she thought her abuela would never be proud of her again.

Her grandmother lets go of her slowly, pulling back to hold her at arm’s length and survey her critically. She brushes a single tear away from Santana’s cheek with a wrinkled hand and shakes her head, “Stop that now. Don’t you know today is supposed to be happy?”

“I am really happy,” Santana sniffles, laughing a little as she wipes the back of her hand against her eyes and her grandmother frowns at her, “Really.”

Her grandmother smacks her lips together and rolls her eyes, and Santana thinks she’s seeing a vision of her future for a second before she speaks and Santana hears her accent, “Then you shouldn’t cry. Come.” She pulls her towards the living room, arm strong around her back, as she guides her towards the couch. “How did Brittany look, eh? Tell me about the good parts.”

“Beautiful,” Santana smiles a little as she takes a seat. She glances to the doorway where her parents are standing watching them, then pulls her cell phone out, “Do you want to see a picture?”

It’s the one photo they took together before they found their parents. They’re only just in the frame, because Santana had to hold her own phone to take the photo and she got distracted from aiming by the way Brittany had kissed her, one hand in her hair, fingers against her neck, the other holding her own cap flat against her head as it had started to fall. They were supposed to be just smiling goofily, heads pressed close together before Brittany had turned and sucked Santana’s bottom lip between both of hers. They’re both smiling into the kiss, Santana in surprise, Brittany playfully, and they look so, so happy, like they know a secret no one else does.

“Oh Santanita,” her grandmother murmurs, wiping at her face with one hand and wrapping the other around her back, pulling her close, “ _Santana_.”

+

It’s only after her abuela has left and she’s getting dressed to go to Brittany’s after dinner that it really hits her that she’s graduated high school and she’s going to college in the fall. She stares at herself in the mirror while she’s putting her makeup on, trying to decide if she looks older and wiser than she did that morning.

She thinks she still looks the same.

She stares for a long time before she looks away, eyes finding her diploma rolled out and held down between two books on her desk, and then the Stanford acceptance letter pinned to her notice board next to a picture of her and Brittany.

She finishes putting her makeup on carefully, rubbing at a tiny smudge of eyeliner in the corner of her eye until it’s gone, and taking care to blot her lips . She smoothes her hand down her dress, getting the last wrinkles out and then surveys her appearance in the mirror again critically, hoping she looks okay. 

Brittany didn’t tell her to dress up but she has anyway, wanting to look nice when she meets Brittany’s extended family for the first time since she became her girlfriend. She’s known some of them since she was little, from the odd occasions when Brittany was allowed to bring her best friend to family gatherings, and she wonders if any of them remember the little girls they used to be, running wild and sharing pieces of cake under tables where no one would find them. It’s weird, meeting them again now things have shifted so dramatically, like they have all the power and she has none. She wants them to like her — she thinks they used to like her — and she feels a little like a nervous teenager meeting their date’s parents for the first time. 

She runs her hand through her hair one last time before she turns away to grab her cell and text Brittany that she’s about to leave. She clomps down the stairs noisily, and just before she leaves she catches sight of her reflection in the hallway mirror.

She thinks she looks older now.

+

Brittany’s waiting for her on the porch when she gets there, half hidden in the shadows and leaning back against the door. The porch light glints off the highlights in her hair as she stands there, and she looks so peaceful, Santana almost doesn’t want to disturb her, happy just to look. She parks at the end of the driveway, behind all the cars belonging to Brittany’s extended family members, and crunches up the gravel as quietly as she can in her heels.

Brittany hears her coming and kicks back from the door, and Santana watches the way she steps out of the darkness and down the steps towards her like she’s being revealed, the dull light from the porch sliding across her face drawing her into existence. 

She almost forgets to breathe, just for a minute.

They meet on the middle step, Brittany pulling her into a hug and burying her face in her hair, and Santana breathes in the smell of her, shampoo and perfume and _Brittany_ down underneath it all. 

“How was dinner?” Brittany asks, and Santana can feel her lips moving against her neck as she speaks. 

It makes her shiver and ache for Brittany’s mouth, so she says, “Good,” and leans up to kiss Brittany’s neck, then her cheek, mouth curving into a smile against the skin. “But this is better.”

Brittany grins and turns her head until their lips meet, arms snaking around Santana’s neck and into her hair to pull her closer. “Yeah,” Brittany agrees simply, half hidden in a sigh between kisses so Santana almost doesn’t hear it. Brittany kisses her again, a little more chastely, then pulls back to rest her forehead against Santana’s, and when Santana opens her eyes all she can see is Brittany, freckles and a blur of blue where her eyes merge together. 

They stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, just breathing together like two halves of a whole.

Brittany is quite for a moment longer, and then she leans back a little to find Santana’s eyes, searching for something. “I’m going to introduce you as my girlfriend.”

“I know.”

Brittany nods, eyes still locked with hers. “But that’s still okay?”

Santana feels a pang that even now Brittany still feels like she needs to ask, and she stands up on her tip-toes and kisses her again, slow and sweet, one hand pressed to her cheek, thumb tracing her cheekbone softly.

She wishes Brittany didn’t have to ask.

“Of course, Britt-Britt,” she says when she pulls back, finding Brittany’s eyes and smiling, waiting until she sees the answering smile on Brittany’s face before she speaks again, “But wait, I thought they already knew about us. Didn’t you tell people at your cousin’s wedding?”

“They know I have a girlfriend but they don’t know it’s you,” Brittany takes her hand and climbs a step, moving closer to the door, and tugs on her hand. Santana follows, watching as Brittany slides back into the shadows. “And I want them to know it’s you, so.” Brittany shrugs a little, like it’s not a big deal, but Santana can’t stop herself from kissing her again, just once, before they go inside.

+

Santana walks through the door with her hand in Brittany’s, and when Brittany’s aunts and uncles turn to look at them Brittany says, “This is my girlfriend, Santana,” smiling at her in a way that makes Santana blush, warm and possessive all at once.

+

“So Santana, where are you going to college?” Brittany’s uncle asks her when she’s waiting to get sodas from the fridge for her and Brittany.

“Um,” Santana nearly swallows her tongue. She’s a little thrown by the fact that Brittany isn’t there to deflect the attention, and she can’t actually remember which uncle this is, but she clears her throat and says, “Stanford,” anyway. “I’m gonna be pre-med, I think,” she adds, after a second’s hesitation. It kind of feels like bragging somehow, and she wishes she could take it back almost as soon as she’s said it. 

“A doctor, eh?” He nudges another of Brittany’s uncles and winks, taking another sip of his beer, “So you’ll be able to take good care of our Brittany then. Financially, I mean.”

Santana flushes and has to look down, because honestly, it’s something she hasn’t really thought about but now that he’s mentioned it it’s making her feel a little funny, and part of her has to fight the urge to say, “Yes sir!” like some kind of boy scout. She’d roll her eyes at herself if she wasn’t trying so hard to make a good impression. 

“You’ve embarrassed her now,” the second Uncle says, smiling warmly until Santana nods shyly. “Don’t mind him, he’s just stuck in 1963.” 

“I am not! I just like to check up on who Britt is dating,” he takes another mouthful of his beer, “I asked that boy in the wheelchair the same thing.”

“So you and Brittany must have chosen your colleges together, then?” the more sober uncle goes on, ignoring the other.

Santana nods and smiles, thinking back to them lying on the floor of Brittany’s room, flipping through college brochures last fall. “Well Berkeley has a really great dance program,” she explains, “And my parents wanted me to go to Stanford, so it made a lot of sense for both of us.” And it’s really fucking far away from Lima, she wants to add but doesn’t, because, well, good impressions aren’t usually helped by cursing. 

“It sounds like you two really have the future all planned out,” Brittany’s uncle says, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah,” Santana agrees cautiously, “I guess we have.” The thought sends a shiver through her, and she wonders, briefly, when the hell that happened. 

She remembers how Brittany had rolled onto her elbow and pushed the Berkeley brochure towards her shyly, murmuring, “We could go to California together,” in this quiet voice that turned it into a question, and how she’d just sort of stared at Brittany in disbelief and shaken her head — because weren’t they always going together? — before she’d leaned forward and kissed her hard, pushing her back down against the floor. Now that she’s thinking back to it, she felt like she was growing up then as she’d kissed Brittany, fingers tangling in her hair. They’d made love slowly, trailing fingers exploring the bodies they knew so well, quiet but for the murmured gasps against each other’s mouths in the stillness of the room. After, Santana had lain with her head on Brittany’s chest, listening to the thud of her heart and whispered, “We’re going to California together,” in a way that turned it into a promise, and Brittany had kissed her then, making her own promise in return.

She’s shaken from the memory by Brittany’s uncle handing her two sodas from the fridge, icy cold against her suddenly too warm skin, and she takes them quickly, glad he doesn’t know what she was thinking about a second before. “So you take care of our Brittany now, y’hear?” he winks at her roguishly and drags Brittany’s other uncle off to the living room. 

Santana shakes her head, faint blush on her cheeks, and watches them go.

+

One of Brittany’s aunts ask them how long they’ve been together just as she’s leaving, because, she says, they look so happy they must still be in their honeymoon phase. Santana looks at Brittany helplessly, wondering if the answer is since senior year or since freshman year or something else entirely, and then Brittany says, “Since we were five,” shyly, in this sweet little voice that tugs at Santana behind her bellybutton.

Brittany’s aunt stares at them dumbly for a moment, and then shakes her head as she pulls Brittany into a hug and kisses her cheek, and Santana sees her whisper something into Brittany’s ear just before she pulls back. They watch her head down the driveway in silence, and then Santana turns to find Brittany looking at her with a smile on her face, head canted to the side like she’s puzzling something out.

“What did she say Britt-Britt?” Santana asks softly, reaching over for her hand.

“She said I should marry you,” Brittany replies, not quite meeting her eyes, and Santana feels her stomach flip-flop again.

It’s not that she hasn’t thought about it, but it’s something she kind of thought she could never have so she’d tried to push from her mind. When Brittany says it out loud it suddenly becomes possible again, something Santana hadn’t even known she’d wanted until this moment, and she has to fight hard to keep her face neutral.

“Damn right,” she says after a second’s hesitation, just long enough for Brittany to notice. She’d tried to put something of her old bravado back into her voice, to turn it into a joke, but it sounds like a weak imitation and besides she never was that person with Brittany. It shouldn’t be a big a deal, but they’re both making it into one, and Santana has to resist the urge to scuff her feet against the hard wood floor just to give herself something to do. She clasps her fingers together, twisting them nervously, and she’s not looking at Brittany now either. 

It’s uncomfortable for a second longer, and then Brittany laughs, a little bit higher than usual, in the back of her throat, and Santana slides her gaze to her all at once, like she’s pulling off a band aid. Brittany has an unreadable expression on her face, a faint blush on her cheeks, and then she rolls her eyes and pushes Santana back into the living room and the moment is lost.

+

Brittany’s aunts and uncles leave slowly, and Santana yawns behind her hand and thinks maybe she should go too, even though she’d told her mom she was going to stay. She still doesn’t like to assume she can just stay over whenever she wants, even though she pretty much does, and when she says as much to Brittany, Brittany just looks at her steadily and says, “Oh San,” in this voice that sounds like her heart is breaking. 

Santana can’t bear the way Brittany is looking at her, so she shifts her gaze sideways until Brittany puts her fingers under her chin and tilts her head back gently to find her eyes. “You’re such a dork sometimes,” Brittany whispers in the same heartbreak voice, tracing her thumb over Santana’s bottom lip slowly. 

I am not, Santana wants to retort, but then Brittany is leaning forward to kiss her and the words die in her throat.

+

They find Ashley asleep in a corner of the living room while they’re tidying up, curled into a ball next to one of the armchairs. 

“She didn’t want to go to bed and miss anything,” Brittany’s mom says fondly, collecting the empty glasses and cans dotted around the room. “She said she wanted to stay up and be a big girl like you two,” she sighs and shakes her head. “She’s growing up.”

“Yeah, we kinda do that, mom.” Brittany nudges her playfully, trying to keep the moment light. “Did you know I graduated high school today?”

Santana hides her smile, and throws a few more paper plates into the garbage bag. Brittany catches her eye and rolls her own theatrically, and then Santana can’t help but laugh as well. “Yeah, did you hear we’re going to college in the fall?” She adds, as innocently as she can.

Brittany’s mom just laughs at her, and she feels it again, that weird feeling of being included and loved that makes her chest tighten, and she has to smile and look away. 

“How did I end up with such a couple of smart asses huh?” Brittany’s mom stacks glasses onto the tray she’s carrying and heads for the kitchen, bumping Brittany with her hip as she walks past, “And just for that, you two get to put Ash to bed.”

Brittany sighs dramatically and says something about that not being fair, but Santana barely notices past her sudden panic. How the hell do you put a nine year old to bed? Whenever they’ve babysat in the past, they’d always made sure Ashley was in bed before she fell asleep, Santana staring her down when she had to with the scowl Ashley seems to have picked up herself, just so she and Brittany could spend more time sneaking kisses under the blanket on the couch before Brittany’s mom and dad came home. 

“Do we—should we wake her?” Santana asks helplessly, suddenly sure that if they do that she’ll never go back to sleep. She wants to do this right, with every fibre of her being, though she isn’t sure, all of a sudden, why it’s so important to her. She fiddles with her hands nervously, waiting for Brittany to answer.

“Relax, I’ve got her,” Brittany says, looking at her like she’s acting weird, or grown an extra body part or something. She crouches down next to her sister then slides her arms under her carefully, lifting her from the floor. Santana watches in amazement as Brittany manages to lift Ashley without waking her, and how, after a moment, Ashley whimpers and slides her arms around Brittany’s neck and snuggles closer. Santana doesn’t know how, but Ashley is still asleep, and Santana trails after Brittany as she climbs the stairs, sure she’s watching some kind of magic trick.

“Can you get the door? And the covers?” Brittany whispers over Ashley’s head, so Santana does, opening the door to Ashley’s room and then turning the bed down so Brittany can set her down in the middle of it. She tugs Ashley out of her clothes gently, stroking her arm and whispering comforting nonsense sounds as Santana stands by not knowing what to do. 

After a moment she reaches over and turns on the night-light, because that’s the kind of thing she might have liked when she was nine, she thinks, someone to turn on the night light for her.

Brittany pulls a sleep shirt out of Ashley’s closet and slides it over her head like a magician pulling a cloth off a table without disturbing the place settings. Ashley is still asleep, somehow, and Santana doesn’t understand, not at all, when Brittany pulls the blankets over her and then smoothes them down to tuck her in. Brittany nods towards the door, and they tip toe away, listening to Ashley’s deep, even breathing and holding their breath. 

In the hallway, Santana huffs out a lungful of air and says, “I don’t know where you learnt to do that weird piece of magic, but when we have kids you’re totally in charge of putting them to bed,” without really thinking about it, and it’s only after she sees the way Brittany is looking at her that her brain catches up with her mouth. She flushes with embarrassment and starts to stammer, “I mean—“

Then Brittany just says, “Okay,” quickly, low and a little bit excited, before Santana can say anything else. The rest of her words die in her throat, and Santana grins at her like some kind of idiot, until Brittany shakes her head and laughs, taking her hand to pull her back downstairs to finish cleaning.

+

“You can go to bed if you want, we can handle the rest,” Brittany’s mom says, as she stacks glasses in the dishwasher. They’ve been slumped against the kitchen counter for the past ten minutes, watching her and yawning in turns, and Santana is so tired she thinks she might just collapse face down on the counter and sleep for a week.

“No it’s okay, mom. We’ll totally help some more,” Brittany says, making more of an effort to stand up straight and just sort of failing. She slumps down again, hands flat against the counter top and yawns again.

Santana looks at the clock on the wall and then sinks her head back down into her hands. It’s much later than she thought, and she rubs her hand over her face to wake herself up. “Yeah, help more,” she echoes in a mumble, struggling to get the words out. Brittany giggles and leans into her, bumping her head against Santana’s shoulder.

“If you can’t even form sentences you shouldn’t be helping,” Mrs. Pierce says sternly, clicking the dishwasher closed and turning it on. “Go to bed!”

She stares at them until they nod, and then before they leave Brittany crosses the room to pull her into a hug. “Thanks for today, mom,” she says as they break apart.

Santana waits by the door, feeling like she’s intruding on what should be a private moment. Mrs. Pierce sniffs once, waving a hand in front of her face to try and stop the tears, and then she nudges Brittany towards the door and says, “I thought I told you to go to bed.”

Santana wants to say thank you too, thank you for including her like she’s a part of the family and making her feel welcome, but she can’t find the right words. Her throat works soundlessly for a moment and then she stutters, “Thank you for—um…”

Before she can finish the sentence, Brittany’s mom crosses the room and pulls her into a hug, arms wrapping around her tightly. She has one hand on the back of Santana’s head and one on the small of her back, the same way her abuela used to hug her when she was little, and she hugs her back shyly, hands barely touching her. 

“You’re always welcome here, Santana. Always,” Brittany’s mom says into her hair, and Santana nods against her shoulder, heart feeling like it’s about to burst. When they break apart, Mrs. Pierce laughs at the look on her face and pushes her towards the doorway. 

She feels fingers sliding into hers and turns, finding Brittany smiling at her, eyes soft and shining. “Come on, San,” she says sweetly, brushing her fingertips again Santana’s palm. “Let’s go to bed.”

Santana nods and lets herself be pulled through the door.

+

They undress in silence, too tired even to really look at each other, happy enough to shed their clothes and pull on ratty old sleep shirts before crawling into bed. Santana shifts onto her side and looks at Brittany, just looks at her, reaching out to trace her fingers over her cheekbones lightly. Sometimes she thinks she’d be happy if she could just look at Brittany forever, watching the way the light plays over the angles of her face and body, her hair shimmering like spun gold. She’s so beautiful it makes her ache, and after a moment Brittany’s arms come up to wrap around her back and pull her closer, until they’re pressed together with no space left between them. Santana nuzzles into her, nudging her knee between Brittany’s, not with any kind of intent but just because it’s comfortable, and Brittany shifts her hips a little, until they fit together like two puzzle pieces, so close Santana can’t tell them apart. 

They kiss lazily, not really leading to anything but just because they can, bodies curled into each other in the dark. Brittany brushes her tongue against Santana’s lips, clumsy with sleep, and Santana sucks it into her mouth slowly, just because. 

Normally, their kisses would be getting more desperate by now, all tongues and swollen lips, until their hands were sliding down between their bodies searching for something more, but it’s still late and they’re still tired, so they’re content just to kiss, closed mouthed and slow now, as they start to slide towards sleep.

After a while, Brittany sighs and pulls back to ghost kisses against Santana’s jaw and down her neck, and then Santana threads her hands into Brittany’s hair like it’s something precious, holding her as close as she knows how. Brittany breathes into the hollow of her throat, breath cool against her too hot skin, lips pressing into the bones there every time Santana swallows.

Santana breathes out against Brittany’s forehead, tracing shapes into her shoulder blade with the arm wrapped around Brittany’s back, and wishes she never had to move again.

“Today was kind of perfect,” Brittany whispers sleepily, pressing another kiss into her skin. Her eyes are closed and she looks like she’s nearly asleep, and Santana wonders if she even knows she’s said it.

“Yeah,” Santana agrees thickly, not sure if Brittany can hear her but pressing one last kiss to her forehead anyway. “Yeah, it really was, Britt-Britt.”


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not that they even could lose each other. Santana has a map with three different routes from Stanford to Berkeley marked on it, just in case.

Brittany wakes up while Santana is still asleep, curled into Brittany’s chest and snoring softly. She waits for her eyes to adjust to the dark and brushes a little of the hair away from Santana’s forehead, skimming her fingers against her brow, fingertips barely brushing the skin so she doesn’t wake her.

She likes watching Santana sleep, likes the way her whole body relaxes and her hands reach for her clumsily, fumbling after her in the dark.  She likes how if she rolls or moves, Santana always comes with her, so they’re never more than a few inches apart and there’s always some part of them touching across what little space exists between them.

She watches Santana’s eyes flutter as her fingertips move feather light against Santana’s skin, watches Santana’s brow twitch like she can feel Brittany’s touch, and Santana nudges her head closer, like she’s seeking more contact, quieting for a moment before her breath catches in her throat again.  

Santana insists she doesn’t snore, and Brittany lets her believe that even though she makes these cute little snoring sounds when she’s really happy or comfortable, like whenever she’s wrapped up in Brittany’s arms, which is kind of like 90% of the time, now.  Sometimes, Brittany thinks she wouldn’t tell Santana anyway because it’s a secret thing that she gets all to herself and no one else gets to see.

Brittany likes the things only she gets to see; like Santana’s goofy smile whenever Brittany makes her laugh or the way she looks right before Brittany touches her sometimes, like it’s the only thing she needs in the world; the way she shivers and gasps when Brittany finally presses her fingers or her tongue between her legs and arches up into the touch.  

That one’s probably her favourite, to be honest.

Santana shifts against her a little, feet twitching in her sleep and bumping against Brittany’s under the covers, and then she starts snoring again, a little louder than before.  Brittany grins into the darkness and presses a kiss to Santana’s forehead before she eases her arms out from around her and gets out of bed slowly, stretching herself up to her full height and feeling her joints pop.  She presses the button on her cell phone so she can check the time, and Santana mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over, away from the light of the screen.

“Sorry, baby,” Brittany murmurs quietly, reaching for the discarded pajama pants on the floor and pulling them up her legs.. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Where y’going?” Santana’s voice is thick with sleep and partially muffled by the way she still has her face pressed down into the pillow, little bit of a whine in her voice at the loss of contact.

“Water,” Brittany replies softly, but Santana is already asleep.  

Brittany watches her for a moment, torn between getting back into bed and getting a drink, because Santana isn’t snoring now, and that’s wrong, somehow.  She stands there a moment longer, shifting from side to side, and then swallows against the scratchiness in her throat and tip toes to the door.

+

Brittany pulls a clean glass out of the dishwasher, watching the way it sparkles in the light, and then turns the tap on and lets the water run until it’s so cold it numbs her fingers.  She hides a yawn behind her hand as the glass fills, then gulps down half of it in one go, feeling the cool water slide all the way down her throat.  She shivers a little, and sips the rest more slowly, a little bit worried in case her insides freeze or something.  

Santana would probably be pissed if she let herself freeze.

“Britt?” Her mom blinks sleepily at her from the doorway, pulling her from her half-formed thoughts. “Where’s Santana?”

“Asleep,” Brittany replies quickly, turning to look at her. “I needed a glass of water.”

“Okay,” her mom hovers in the doorway for a second, chewing on her bottom lip the way she does when she’s puzzling something out, eyes fixed on Brittany in a way that makes her want to crawl back into bed next to Santana and never come out.  It looks like she’s trying to make her mind up about something, and Brittany sips her water and watches silently, waiting for her to speak.

There’s something about the way her mom looks at her that makes her unsure if she wants to hear what she has to say.  

She blinks and sips her water, waiting.

After another long moment her mom steps into the room and comes to stand next to her, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind Brittany’s ear and offer her a shaky smile.  “I can’t believe you’re going to college in three months.”

“Mom,” Brittany sighs, relaxing almost at once.  She really wants to roll her eyes because this is at least the four thousandth time they’ve had this conversation in the last two months, and really, her mom needs to stop worrying. “Not this again. I’ll be fine. I’m eighteen, and I’ll be with Santana, so.”

Her mom looks at her silently for a minute, nodding a little, and then her mouth opens like she’s about to say something.  She doesn’t though, just closes it again, jaw tightening, then glances away.

“Mom?” Brittany says again, feeling her nervousness return.  She sets her glass down on the counter and reaches for her hand, “What?”

“I know you think relationships last forever, Britt, but it’s okay if you two grow apart at college.  Sometimes people do,” her mom’s eyes are soft, and she looks almost apologetic, like she really doesn’t want to say what she’s saying. “Sometimes high school sweethearts break up at college, and it isn’t the end of the world. I just want you to know that, okay?”

Brittany’s fairly sure it would be the end of the world actually, but it’s not ever going to happen anyway so she isn’t entirely sure why her mom is saying it might with such resignation in her voice.  It’s like, they fought so hard for years just to be together, doesn’t her mom think they’d fight even harder not to lose each other?

Not that they even could lose each other. Santana has a map with three different routes from Stanford to Berkeley marked on it, just in case.

“Mom, you don’t even have to worry about that,” she says, taking in her mom’s anxious expression while she waits for her to say something. “Santana and I are good, okay?”

“I know, and you know I love Santana just like I love you but I’m just saying if something happens—“

“It won’t, though,” Brittany interjects quickly, then carries on before her mom can say anything else. “You know the only thing I’ve ever wanted since I was, like, thirteen? To be with Santana. You know the only thing she ever wanted?” She pauses, and smiles shyly, “The same. So we’ll be together at college, and then we’ll be together when we get our first jobs, and buy our first house, and when they change the laws so we can be together like everyone else.”  She takes a breath, and tries to ignore the tears in her mom’s eyes. “So you don’t have to worry about that, okay? You don’t have to worry about that at all.”

Her mom pulls her into a hug, wrapping her arms around her and holding on tightly, the moment stretching until Brittany laughs a little, “Mom, I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry,” her mom finally lets her go, then holds her at arms’ length for a minute, eyes settling on her face.  The smile on her mom’s face is happy-sad, and Brittany just shakes her head because she’s being ridiculous the same way Santana is ridiculous sometimes, and then some of the sadness falls from her mom’s lips. “You should go back to bed. You’ve had a long day.”

Brittany nods and moves her glass to the sink, “‘Night mom.”

+

Santana’s still asleep, or at least Brittany thinks she is when she strips her pj pants off and climbs back into bed, carefully so as not to wake her.  She slides an arm under Santana’s neck and finds Santana’s hand under the pillow, then presses herself against her back, her other hand settling on Santana’s hip under the covers.  Santana always says that she only lets Brittany be the big spoon because she’s taller and it makes the most sense, but Brittany knows that’s only half true because Santana always snuggles backwards into her body until there’s no space between them, and hums happily before she falls asleep.  Brittany doesn’t mind so much; being taller is kind of fun when she gets to bury her face in Santana’s hair and rest her lips against the bump at the top of Santana’s spine every night.

(Being taller is kind of fun other times too, like when she gets to lift Santana up until her legs are around Brittany’s waist, and she can walk them over to the bed all without having to stop kissing Santana, especially when she drops Santana down onto the bed and then Santana pulls her down on top of her.)

She thinks she’s managed to get back into bed without waking Santana up, but Santana almost immediately rolls over in the circle of her arms and snuggles her face into Brittany’s chest, one hand clutching at the front of Brittany’s shirt and the other sliding around her back to pull her closer. “Where’d you go?” Her voice is low and sleepy, but she gazes up at her with wide open eyes, forehead creased into a little bit of a frown, and Brittany kisses the squishy space between her eyebrows, just because.

“Went to get a drink,” Brittany tightens her grip around Santana. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Woke up and you were gone,” Santana pouts a little, voice clearer now, and threads a hand into Brittany’s hair behind her ear, fingers rubbing softly against her skin.

“Sorry baby. ‘M here now, go back to sleep.” Brittany presses another kiss to her forehead, and rubs circles into the top of her spine comfortingly.

Santana bumps her head against Brittany’s chin until Brittany looks down at her, and then she says, “Not sleepy,” with a little bit of a smirk that makes Brittany bite her lip in response and glance down at her through her lashes.

“Yeah?”

Santana nods, eyes dark and lidded, and rolls her hips against Brittany’s a little, “Yeah.”

Brittany grins and slides a hand down to rest low on Santana’s back, pulling her a little closer against her until they’re pressed together, so close Brittany can feel Santana’s chest rising and falling every time she breathes.  Her breath comes quicker now than a moment before, and Brittany watches the way Santana’s tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip quickly, eyes drawn there as if by magic, so that Brittany can’t look away, wishing it was her tongue instead of Santana’s.  

She swallows and glances away and up to find Santana’s eyes and the smirk still on her face, and then she huffs out a strangled laugh and whispers, “You’re mean,” without really meaning it.

Santana’s smirk grows, and the hand in her hair moves until it’s at the back of her head, fingers pressing into her skin until she’s pulling her forward into a kiss. Santana kisses her hard, all lips and tongues and want, and Brittany feels desire bloom low in her belly.  

She kisses her back hungrily, open-mouthed and desperate, trying to kiss the smirk from her lips.

Santana rolls them until she’s on top and straddling Brittany’s hips, smirks into the kiss a little when Brittany whimpers, and then pulls Brittany up so that they’re both sitting up, one hand reaching down to stroke against Brittany’s stomach under her shirt, and then higher until she’s palming her breast, fingers brushing against the nipple.  Brittany shivers a little and moans into Santana’s mouth, back arching up into the touch, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of the way Santana touches her, the way her fingers know every sweet spot that makes her sigh and roll her hips, finding them unerringly like magnets are pulling them there.

Her hands find Santana’s hipbones and pull, until Santana’s pressed against her with no space between their bodies, impossible close and wonderfully soft in her arms, and then she slides her hand lower, until her fingers brush against the thin material of her underwear.

Santana always kisses her like she’s surprised she can, offering her mouth to Brittany like she isn’t sure it’s what Brittany wants.  Brittany kisses her like she never wants to stop, putting everything Santana’s never been good at hearing into the way their lips press together, their tongues brushing as they breathe each other in.

Santana gasps into the kiss, eyes opening a little in surprise, and Brittany hopes this will be the time she finally hears what she has to say.

They keep kissing until their lips are swollen, until all they can taste is each other on their tongues, until Santana pulls back long enough for her grin to turn wicked, and then she’s tugging at the bottom of Brittany’s sleep shirt, pulling until Brittany leans back to give her room to get it over her head, before she reaches for her own shirt and does the same.

They just look at each other, grins falling from their faces as their expressions turn more serious, Santana still straddling Brittany’s hips, breathing hard like they both can’t quite catch their breath.  After a second, Brittany swallows and brushes the back of her hand against Santana’s cheek, then lower, over her collarbone and down until she finds the soft curve of her breast.  Santana exhales shakily at the feel of it and bites her lip, rolling her hips a little to bring herself closer, eyes dark and unreadable.

They’re both only wearing panties now, because they learnt long ago that sleeping in any more clothes than that was kind of pointless, and Brittany ducks her head until her mouth is replacing her hand, sucking a nipple into her mouth, hands flat against Santana’s back to hold her steady.  Santana whimpers and rolls her hips, grinding down on Brittany’s thigh, and Brittany sucks harder, watching the way Santana shivers, feeling the way Santana’s hands tighten in her hair.

“Britt,” Santana moans, voice low and throaty, and Brittany can feel it all through her body, everything in her drawing to attention to and wanting to answer her.

She wonders if other people can say names the same way Santana does, like she’s addressing the very core of you, and calling you into being.

“Britt,” she says again, and Brittany forgets to think.  

She comes up to kiss Santana again, grazing her teeth against her bottom lip before pushing her tongue into Santana’s mouth like she owns it, which she kind of does, so.  Santana’s moan is swallowed by the kiss, and she presses herself more firmly against Brittany’s thigh now, hips bucking more insistently.

Brittany’s lost in the feel of her, in the way all of her senses are overwhelmed by Santana until she’s all she can see, feel, taste, touch.  She brushes her fingers against the soft-sweet skin, inhaling the perfume-shampoo scent of her as she sucks at the hinge of her jaw and feel-hears every little whispered gasp.

“Britty,” Santana’s voice tugs at her, breathy and low, and Brittany leans back a little to look at her, eyes sweeping down her body and then back up to find Santana’s gaze.   

“I love you,” Brittany says, just because she wants to, because she still can’t believe, sometimes, that she gets to say it whenever she wants to.

“I love you too,” Santana murmurs, eyes as dark as Brittany’s ever seen them, and then Brittany trails the hand down from Santana’s jaw, between her breasts and over her stomach, until she’s pushing past the band of Santana’s underwear and finding slick heat.

Santana’s eyes shut almost by reflex for a second, and she shudders at the contact, hips pitching her forward until she’s leaning into Brittany and gasping right above her ear, dark hair spilling all around them until it’s all Brittany can see.  Brittany holds her up, other hand flat against Santana’s spine as her arm takes the weight, gathering her up and keeping her safe.  Her head is tucked into Santana’s shoulder, lips against the curve of her neck, and she sucks on her collarbone lazily, grazing her teeth over it then tonguing the mark she’s left there as Santana gasps again.

It feels like her entire world is narrowed to the movement of her fingers and Santana’s hips, and the way Santana exhales noisily against her skin as the fingers of her right hand flex against Brittany’s back.  She doesn’t need the universe to be bigger than this moment, doesn’t need it to be anything but the movement of Santana’s hips and the steadying hand she has pressed against Brittany’s chest, just above her heart.

She wonders absently if Santana can feel the way her heart beats for her, and has always beat for her, for as long as she can remember.  She’s pretty sure it’s beating faster than it’s supposed to right now, maybe too fast, and she hopes Santana can feel it the way she can, beating noisily against her ribs like it’s trying to get out.

Santana gasps above her ear again, and when Brittany moves to suck at her pulse point she can feel Santana’s pulse beating erratically, almost too fast and too hard, in a way that kind of makes her worry.

She leans down to quickly press a soft kiss to Santana’s chest, just above her heart.

The hand on her back tenses, fingers digging into the skin, and Brittany nudges at Santana’s head until their foreheads are resting together, Santana gasping into the space between their mouths every time Brittany’s fingers move against her.  She can tell Santana is close to falling apart; she can feel it in the way her body tenses and her breathing gets shallower, coming more quickly as her hips lose their rhythm, and she presses her forehead against Santana’s a little harder, trying to find her eyes.

She presses a little harder with her fingers, feels Santana’s thighs tense against hers, and then Santana’s shuddering against her trying to stay silent as she comes undone, fingers gripping her back so hard Brittany thinks they’ll leave a mark.  Santana doesn’t look away, and Brittany moves her hand up to tangle into her hair at the back of her head, holding her steady and keeping her close, foreheads so close that they’re breathing the same air, Brittany’s fingers moving slowly, drawing the last of Santana’s orgasm from her.

Brittany leans up to brush her lips against Santana’s chin, nudges her with her nose until Santana kisses her back softly and smiles into the kiss, lazy and sated.

Santana presses another kiss to her lips and hums happily as Brittany’s fingers slow, moving to draw lazy wet circles against Santana’s hipbone instead.  Santana sinks down a little, arms looping around Brittany’s shoulders loosely as she curls into her chest, kissing her neck as she rests her head against Brittany’s shoulder and waits for her breathing to even out.

Brittany presses her lips against Santana’s pulse point gently, counting the beats between breaths and waiting for her pulse to regain its rhythm.

Brittany loves the way Santana always stays close now, fingers stroking absently against Brittany’s back as her head turns so she can find Brittany’s eyes and smile shyly, her face still a little bit flushed, her breathing still a little bit shallow.  She threads her hand into Santana’s hair and holds her close, the thumb of her other hand still rubbing at her hip, and Santana sighs into her, lips brushing at the underside of her jaw softly.

Santana's mouth is hot against her neck, and Brittany tilts her head back, letting Santana kiss up to her ear and back down to her collarbone, toes curling against the sheets at the feel of it.  It takes everything in her not to move, and she pushes one arm behind her to steady herself, hand fisting blindly in the bed covers as she quivers like a taut bowstring, Santana drawing her back against her mouth.

(The first time Santana had kissed her neck when they were fifteen, Brittany had jerked so hard at the feel of it that she nearly headbutted Santana and knocked her out cold; Santana had stared at her in amazement before smirking and leaning in to kiss her again, but Brittany had never gotten good at keeping still.)

She can feel Santana’s lips stretch into a lazy smile against her skin, and Santana moves to suck on her pulse point until Brittany’s sure she’s going to leave a mark and forces her arms to work enough to pull her off.

“My mom,” she protests, embarrassed at how ragged her voice sounds.

“Wear your hair down,” Santana suggests with a grin, sitting back and watching her with hooded eyes, one hand in Brittany’s hair, the other sliding against her breast until Brittany squirms and squeezes her legs together.

Brittany opens her mouth to protest but Santana cuts her off with a kiss, using her entire body to push her down into the mattress and then shifting until she’s between Brittany’s legs, pressing her weight into her.  Santana kisses her slowly, tongue brushing against hers surely, until Brittany’s left breathless and dizzy, clouded by desire, arching up against Santana every time their lips meet.

It feels like forever until Santana is kissing a trail down her body, mapping out the curves and contours with her hands and mouth, finding her breasts, her stomach, the hollow between her hips.  Brittany quivers with anticipation, hand sliding down to the back of Santana’s head to urge her onwards, and Santana glances up, just once, before tugging her underwear down her legs and dragging her tongue through her, just where Brittany needs it most.  Brittany lets go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding, and cants her hips up, seeking more contact.

Out of all the things that changed the summer before, this was the best because it was the one thing that was completely new.  It had remained some sort of invisible line Santana was unwilling to cross, because straight girls didn’t go down on their best friends no matter how much they may have wanted to, and the feel of Santana between her legs, tongue warm and soft and wet against her, always makes Brittany’s stomach flip flop in a way that has nothing to do with orgasms.  It always reminds her of that first time the summer before, how hesitant Santana had been, suddenly unsure of herself in a way she never was in bed with Brittany, and how she’d touched her there so softly, lips and tongue barely brushing against her, slow and tentative.

There’s no hesitation now.  Santana laps her tongue against Brittany, aware of all the places that make Brittany shudder, exactly where to press her tongue to make her gasp and buck her hips, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the sheets.  She rolls her hips again and feels Santana chuckle, bucks a little more at the way Santana’s lips vibrate when she does so, and Santana brings her arm up across Brittany’s stomach to try and hold her down.

Brittany tries to stop herself moving, curling her toes and clenching her thighs, hand fisted in the sheets tightly, but it doesn’t really help, and then Santana slides two fingers into her and Brittany’s lost, hips rising to meet every thrust as Santana sucks at her and tries to hold on.  She comes murmuring Santana’s name like it’s the only word she knows, Santana’s tongue flicking against her lazily in time with her aftershocks, fingers buried inside of her and curling just so, until Brittany shudders again and cries out, thighs clenching around Santana’s head as she gasps, “San, _please_.”

Santana pulls her head back with a laugh, and brushes her fingers against Brittany’s stomach with the arm she still has draped across her as Brittany sucks air into her lungs, feeling her whole body go limp as her heartbeat returns to normal.  She nuzzles into Brittany’s thigh, rests her head there and gazes up at Brittany adoringly, in a way that makes Brittany smile shyly and tug her hand through Santana’s hair, fingers tracing a line behind her ear and down her neck.

“You’re so beautiful, Britt-Britt,” Santana murmurs, voice full of wonder, brushing her lips against the soft skin on the inside of her thigh again.

“Come here,” Brittany whispers, fingers sliding down to grab her and tugging, until Santana’s moving up her body and kissing her, fitting their bodies together again.

They’re different kisses now, close-mouthed and sweet, and Brittany hums into them, tasting herself on Santana’s lips, different and familiar all at once.  

“I love you,” Santana mumbles against her lips softly, almost like it’s a secret, and Brittany kisses her harder, using the hand on her jaw to pull her closer.  

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of hearing those words from Santana; the magical sound of them, the way Santana’s eyes soften when she says them, the way a smile always tugs at the corners of her mouth.

She kisses her harder, hands curling into her hair, and decides to show her just how much she likes to hear them.

+

“Britt,” Santana murmurs later, half on top of Brittany and half next to her, chin resting on Brittany’s chest.  She brushes some hair away from Brittany’s face and rests her fingers on her jaw, waiting for her eyes to open and regain their focus.

“Mmm?” Brittany smiles at how close Santana is, before moving forward a little to bump their noses together.  Santana grins and slides her hand down Brittany’s arm lightly until Brittany shivers and shifts, using the leg she has hooked over Santana’s hip to urge her closer.

She can feel Santana everywhere, like she’s being wrapped up in her. It feels like her skin is humming; oversensitive and tingling wherever it brushes against Santana’s, like Santana has marked every inch of her with her hands and mouth, and now she’s calling her back to her, skin seeking skin.  She touches her fingers to the dark mark on Santana’s collarbone, then moves them to brush against a similar one on her shoulder, and Santana laughs, low and throaty, before brushing her fingertips against Brittany’s neck and walking them up to her ear.

“We’ll wear our hair down,” Santana says softly, “It’ll be our secret.”

“Okay,” Brittany murmurs in return, rolling onto her side and pulling Santana with her.  She presses herself closer, leg sliding between both of Santana’s until Santana squeezes her thighs together and exhales noisily, shaking her head a little as her eyes flutter closed.

“ _Britt_ ,” she mumbles, so quiet Brittany almost doesn’t hear it.

Brittany brushes her lips to Santana’s nose softly, rubs little circles into Santana’s spine, until Santana relaxes in her arms again.

She can still feel the phantom weight of Santana’s lips on hers, can still taste Santana on her tongue, and Santana finds her eyes and smiles again, arm sliding down to the small of her back, holding her close.  “It’s getting light out,” Santana whispers, something like wonder in her voice, eyes flicking towards the window.

“Do you want to get up?” Brittany asks, trying to hide a yawn in Santana’s hair and failing.

“Not really,” Santana replies shyly, leaning up a little to kiss the underside of Brittany’s chin, “Do you?”

“Never,” Brittany replies honestly, nuzzling into her with a sigh.

Just before she falls asleep she hears Santana whisper, “I wish—I wish we could stay here forever, Britt,” quietly like she almost doesn’t want to say it out loud, in case drawing attention to it breaks it somehow.

Santana thinks that a lot, Brittany’s noticed, like if she names something it’ll lose its magic, but magic things never lose their power; that’s kind of why they’re magic in the first place.

“We will,” Brittany whispers thickly, just before sleep claims her, fingers tightening in Santana’s hair. “We will.”


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can’t wait to get the fuck out of this town, sometimes.

She wakes up at noon, eyes blinking furiously against the too bright sunlight streaming through the gap in the shades.  

It takes a minute or so for her tired brain to work, and when she remembers that yesterday was graduation and today is the start of the summer and she has her very naked girlfriend pressed against her back, she can’t keep the grin off her face.  Brittany’s still asleep, pressed so close that Santana can feel every breath she takes against the back of her neck, and she brings her arm up to cover the one Brittany has looped around her waist, rubbing her fingers against the skin until Brittany stirs behind her.

“What time is it?” Brittany mumbles after a moment, mostly into her hair so Santana can hardly hear her.

Santana reaches for her phone on the nightstand and flicks her thumb against the screen until it unlocks. “Five after twelve,” she says with a little bit of a groan, dropping her phone and curling back into Brittany’s body, murmuring contentedly when Brittany pulls her closer, nudging her nose into the space between her shoulder and neck.  “We should get up,” she adds after a moment, even though she can’t think of anything she’d rather do less.

“Can’t,” Brittany murmurs, pressing a clumsy kiss to her shoulder, and then another, a little higher, against her neck.

“Why not?” Santana squirms a little when Brittany kisses her again, before pulling away and rolling over in the circle of Brittany’s arms to face her.  Brittany’s lips stretch into a smile, and she reaches up with her free hand to tuck a strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear, rubbing her finger there until Santana laughs and wraps her fingers around Brittany’s to pull her hand away.

“Can’t do this if we do,” Brittany whispers, smiling against her lips right before she kisses her, slow and sweet.  

It’s a _good morning kiss_ and an _I love you kiss_ and a _just because_ kiss, and Santana melts into, losing herself to the feel of Brittany’s arms around her.

Brittany kisses her again, and she guesses staying in bed would be okay, just for a little bit longer.

+

Brittany’s mom knocks on their door some time in the afternoon and says something about how if they sleep any longer, they won’t want to sleep for the rest of the week.

They haven’t been asleep for hours, but Santana wouldn’t mind if Brittany’s mom never found that out.

“We should maybe get food,” Santana murmurs once they’ve heard Brittany’s mom’s footsteps retreat down the hall.  She lifts her head from Brittany’s chest to look at her, fingertips tracing Brittany’s cheek until Brittany grins and turns her head to kiss them, one by one.

“If you want,” Brittany replies easily, pulling Santana close for one last kiss before climbing out of bed.

Santana can’t stop herself from watching Brittany pad over to her closet to find clothes, still naked and not caring at all.  She moves with an easy confidence Santana has always loved, and she rolls onto her stomach and rests her chin on her arms in front of her, watching as Brittany pulls on her clothes slowly and her skin starts to disappear.

Santana isn’t even aware that she’s staring until Brittany turns after pulling a t-shirt over her head and smiles a little, half shy and half amused.  “See something you like?”

Santana grins and raises her chin defiantly, “Yeah, my girl.” She shrugs a little, grin turning into a smirk, until Brittany laughs and tosses some clean clothes towards the bed.

“Come on, stud,” Brittany says, rolling her eyes a little, “Your girl’s hungry.”

+

In the kitchen, Brittany grabs some cereal while Santana gets the bowls and the milk, and it’s so damned domestic that Santana has to resist the urge to roll her eyes a little when Brittany takes the milk from her hands and pours it over two bowls of cereal, a lot for her and less for Santana, just the way she likes it.  

They sit at the counter eating, bodies curled towards each other, Brittany on the right and Santana on the left, so that they can still play at entwining the fingers of their off-hands together while they eat.  They’re murmuring about nothing of importance when Brittany’s mom comes in and huffs at them as she bustles around putting the cereal box and milk away, and Santana winces and sneaks a glance at Brittany as though they’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“Mom, we would have done that,” Brittany protests, pausing with a spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth.

“Sorry,” Santana adds quickly, looking down into her bowl, kind of by reflex.

“I thought you two had all these big plans for the summer!” Mrs. Pierce says, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve wasted the entire day!”

“Mom, we have, like, three months left,” Brittany protests lightly, then hurriedly goes on when her mom looks like she’s about to speak again, “And we have big plans for college, so we’re building up to them.” Her hesitancy turns it into an almost question and Santana shoots her a covert smile.

Brittany’s mom shakes her head at them fondly, eyes softer now than they had been before.   “It’s just… you might miss it, when you’re gone. So don’t waste the time you have left.”

The idea that she might miss anything about Lima is so ridiculous that Santana almost scoffs, and then she watches as Brittany stands and pulls her mom into a hug, and her heart drops into her stomach.  She hasn’t really thought about it before because she was so focused on getting out of Lima with Brittany at her side, but Brittany has so many things that are worth staying for and she’s still willing to give that up to go with her.  

The thought gives her that ache in her chest again, the one that hurts but in a good way somehow, and she thinks she might start to hyperventilate until Brittany sits back down and slips her left hand into Santana’s right, still resting against the counter.

“What’s wrong?” Brittany asks after a second, once her mom has left, taking in Santana’s wide eyes and shallow breathing. “Is it the cereal?”

Santana shakes her head and then blurts out, “I really fucking love you okay?” in a jumble, slightly more pathetic than she intended.

Brittany just wrinkles her nose and gives her that look, the one that says she’s being silly, but she’s not, she’s not being silly at all, so she leans forward and kisses her hard, until Brittany nearly falls backwards off her stool and has to grab onto the counter to stop herself.  Brittany laughs into her mouth as Santana pulls her back upright, then kisses her again, a little more softly this time, before pulling back and just looking at her, unsure how to say the things she wants to say.

After a moment, Brittany slides her arm around Santana’s back, curling her fingers around her hip, and pulling her closer against her side.  Santana leans into her and exhales slowly, and then  Brittany smiles at her through her lashes and bumps her head against Santana’s, and they sit there for a while, finishing their cereal.

+

They give Quinn a ride to her physical therapy session on Wednesday, Santana carrying her bag and pretending she doesn’t notice when Quinn starts to lean on Brittany the higher they get up the four flights of stairs to the rehab center.  

She still can’t believe it’s only been three and a half months since the accident. Sometimes, she isn’t even sure how Quinn is still alive, never mind just about managing to walk around and use her hands like the bones weren’t broken in so many places she lost count.

Quinn’s therapist is one of her dad’s friends, and he doesn’t mind when they sit at the back of the room during the sessions.  In the weeks after the accident, it’d been because they’d refused to leave Quinn’s side, and now it’s just because Quinn is used to them being there, used to the way they laugh and joke to keep her mind off the fact she still can’t quite make her left hand grip things right, and the way her foot still twists a little when she walks.

Santana catcalls whenever Quinn drops the ball she’s supposed to be tossing from one hand to the other, until Quinn narrows her eyes and throws it at Santana’s head.  She misses for the fifth session in a row, and Santana darts a hand out to grab it before it can rebound off the wall and back towards Quinn.  “Maybe next time you’ll actually hit me,” Santana smirks, before she throws it back as gently as she can and watches Quinn catch it clumsily.

It’s the first time she has, and Brittany cheers like Quinn just scored the winning touchdown in a football game, waving her arms a little like she’s back on the Cheerios. It’s such an overreaction that they all burst out laughing, Santana leaning against Brittany for support while Quinn huffs out a breathy laugh and leans back against the wall, letting the ball fall out of her hand and bounce away.

Her therapist picks it up, and looks backwards and forwards between them all before he says, “Honestly, sometimes I can’t even tell that you guys are friends,” and the expression on his face makes them laugh harder than ever, until Quinn crosses the room on shaky legs to fall down beside them and shove at Santana.  

Santana just keeps laughing, until she can feel tears at the corners of her eyes when Quinn says, “You’re such an ass,” and then Brittany wraps her arms around them both and pulls them close to get them to stop.

+

Her mom calls her on Saturday and when Santana pulls away from where she’s cuddled up on the sofa with Brittany to answer, her mom says, “Oh, so my only daughter is still alive then?” in the same sarcastic voice Santana had perfected in middle school.

“Mom, I texted you every day to say I was at Britt’s,” Santana protests as Brittany turns to look at her, and she’d roll her eyes if she didn’t think her mom would hear somehow.  “And you answered me so I know you got them.”

“That’s not the point,” her mom says after a second’s hesitation.  “You’ll come home tomorrow for church and lunch with your abuela.”

It’s not an offer so Santana doesn’t bother to argue, just glances at Brittany and moves a little closer, leaning in to her so the phone is between both their heads before she asks, “Can Britt come?”

“Honestly, do the two of you ever spend any time apart?” Santana can hear the smile in her mom’s voice, the little hint of good natured exasperation, and she grins a little because no they don’t, not really.

“Not really,” Brittany says cheerfully into the phone, echoing her thoughts.

There’s silence for a minute, and when her mom speaks Santana’s sure it’s because she’s been trying to suppress a laugh. “I’m hanging up now,” she says, as flatly as she can, the words softened by the smile Santana is sure is on her lips, and then the line disconnects.

+

Santana still feels a little weird about going to church if she’s honest, and a lifetime of Catholicism still leaves her a little bit worried that God might smite her on the spot if she holds Brittany’s hand during mass, even if she doesn’t really believe in a lot of it the way her parents or abuela do.  It’s kind of weird that Brittany’s there at all, instead of just waiting outside afterwards to pick her up, to take her home and ruin her pretty church clothes and pull the pins out of her hair, and then she shudders and crosses herself reflexively at the thought, wondering absently if you could go to hell for thinking about that in a church.

She sits sandwiched between Brittany and her grandmother and listens to the priest talk, watching Brittany out of the corners of her eyes just because she looks so beautiful in the light blue dress she’d insisted on wearing, the Sunday best dress that matches her eyes so perfectly.  She doesn’t realise she’s staring until Brittany turns and catches her, and then she looks away embarrassed and re-crosses her legs, forcing her eyes to stare straight ahead and fix on the priest instead.

She’s never really been all that religious despite a lifetime of church attendance, but she still worries about what the people might think; if they can tell Brittany is her girlfriend, and if Father Michaels will still let her take Communion when the time comes without denouncing her as a sinner in front of everyone.  She spends more time watching the rows of people than listening to the priest’s words, and when she meets the eyes of an older woman her abuela knows and sees the way she glances at Brittany beside her, Santana holds herself a little further apart from her before she can help herself.

Brittany glances at her, and after a moment, she shifts until their legs are pressed together, joined all the way down from hip to ankle, and Santana lets herself enjoy the warmth of it for a second before her eyes widen in panic and she moves closer to her abuela and away from Brittany.  It’s kind of stupid, because it’s not like anyone can even see their feet touching from where they’re sitting, but she still feels guilty, somehow.

For some reason, all she can think is that if people see their feet touching then they’ll know all the other ways they touch each other too, and she swears Father Michaels is looking at her more than anyone else every time he talks about sin.

Brittany glances at her with amusement in her eyes and moves her foot over to brush against Santana’s again, and Santana shifts away, sliding closer to her abuela. Brittany sort of snorts under her breath and kicks her foot closer again, and this time Santana has to twist in her seat to avoid her.  She just manages to stop herself from falling into her abuela, and her grandmother’s eyes narrow as she glares at them, until Santana freezes, staring down at her lap contritely, half wondering how Brittany managed to look so suddenly innocent the second her abuela turned to look at them.

Her abuela’s friend is staring at them now with a disapproving expression on her face too, and Santana hangs her head until Brittany nudges her with a gentle elbow and brushes her fingers against her wrist comfortingly.  

Santana takes a breath and then slides her fingers between Brittany’s, gripping her hand tightly, and if she wasn’t going to hell before she’s almost sure she is now.

+

After, when they get outside and stand by the car waiting for Santana’s parents to stop talking to people they know, Brittany leans into her side and says, “God didn’t smite us or whatever it was you were worried about.”  She grins and moves a little closer, until her face is all Santana can see, all pretty blue eyes and the dusting of freckles Brittany always gets in the summer, and Santana has to fight hard to look away because all she wants to do is take her face in her hands and kiss her.

“I wasn’t really worried,” Santana lies quickly, bumping her shoulder against Brittany’s and glancing at her out of the corner of her eye.  “That’s a stupid thing to worry about,” Santana doesn’t mean it to, but it comes out a little bit like a question, and Brittany’s eyes go soft and she shakes her head slowly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind Santana’s ear.

“Really stupid,” she says solemnly, in a way that means it isn’t, until Santana laughs and stands up on her tip toes to press a tiny kiss to the corner of her mouth quickly, before anyone can see.

+

“What’s that?” Brittany asks a couple of days later, voice scratchy with sleep, waking up and rolling over to nudge at Santana with her head until Santana lifts her arm and wraps it around her back, pulling her up against her side.

Santana shifts a little to accommodate her, dropping her knees back down from where they’re drawn up in front of her and adjusting the sheets so Brittany’s tucked in.  “S’my list of stuff we have to do before college.”  She’s been sitting up in bed for a while, scribbling notes while Brittany sleeps on next to her, not really having the heart to wake her when they’ve got nothing in particular to do.

Brittany reaches over and tugs at Santana’s notepad a little so she can see better, and Santana watches as her eyes skip down the list.  “‘Buy sheets?’” Brittany asks after a moment, tapping the page and then sliding her finger down to the next line to read, “‘Britt needs bathroom-slash-kitchen stuff too(?)’” She brushes her fingers against Santana’s and snuggles further into her side, “My mom said she was gonna get all that stuff for me.”

“Oh,” Santana says quickly, feeling her face grow warm. “I just thought we could—it doesn’t matter.”

She moves to scribble it out, but Brittany reaches across and stops her hand. “San,” she says, voice soft, “Do you wanna get that stuff together?”

Santana looks at her helplessly for a second and then stutters, “I just, I thought we—”

“Okay,” Brittany interrupts, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “I’ll tell my mom.”

Santana avoids Brittany’s eyes and nods shyly, and then Brittany chuckles and leans up to kiss her, one hand threading into her hair and the other sliding down to her hip to pull her back down into the bed.

+

Buying sheets is a kind of surreal experience, as it turns out.  

Sheets and Things is full of middle aged couples asking each other whether or not they think this or that cushion will go with the colour palette in the living room, and Santana wants to leave almost as soon as they come in, especially when an assistant by the door side eyes their joined hands a little bit as they walk past him.

She can’t wait to get the fuck out of this town, sometimes.

Brittany gives her hand a squeeze and pulls her towards the bedding, dodging around a young couple with a wailing baby and an older couple examining throws.  Santana tucks herself into Brittany’s side and watches the older couple surreptitiously over Brittany’s shoulder, holding up various shades of blue between them and then rejecting them one by one.

“Do you think they’ve been married forever?” Santana asks after a moment, watching them finally decide on a navy blue throw and toss it into their basket next to a cushion.  They look comfortable together, like they’re worn in somehow, and Santana wonders if anyone ever thinks she and Brittany look like that, like they absolutely belong together no questions asked.

Brittany turns around to glance at them, then shrugs noncommittally, “Well they’re pretty old, so probably.”  She holds up a packet of sheets in a light shade of turquoise and tugs on Santana’s other hand to get her to turn back around, “Do you like this colour?”

Brittany’s just staring at her expectantly, waiting for an answer, but Santana’s brain can’t seem to come up with one.  It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is, somehow, and Santana gets the warm feeling in her belly again.  “S’pretty, Britt-Britt,” she gets out eventually, then smiles a little and adds, “Like you.”

Brittany’s face breaks into a shy smile, and she glances down at the sheets again, “I like it too.”

And then Brittany drops two sets of sheets and pillowcases in a deeper shade of turquoise into the basket Santana is carrying, and hooks her arm through Santana’s to pull her off to look at duvets, and Santana thinks it wouldn’t be so bad, being married for ever, not really.

+

The first day Santana manages to wake Brittany up before ten they go and see her grandmother, because she keeps calling and leaving vaguely threatening messages on Santana’s voicemail in mixed English and Spanish talking about how Santana had better see her a lot before she leaves in the fall because she’s getting old and she might not be there when she decides to come back for visits.  Santana had rolled her eyes the first time, because honestly that woman was going to outlive them all just to spite the old ladies at her church, but after the third message she’d started to feel guilty and asked Brittany if they could go visit on a day that wasn’t a Sunday.

They drive over to Lima Heights Adjacent in Santana’s car, Brittany fiddling with the radio and squinting against the sunlight while Santana covers the familiar roads quickly, locking the doors when they leave the good part of town with a quick glance over at Brittany, which she knows is kind of silly, but it’s also kind of not, so.

“‘Member when we used to have sleepovers at your grandma’s when we were in grade school?” Brittany says suddenly, shading her eyes from the sun. “And she used to make us those sandwiches.”

“Chimichurris,” Santana agrees quickly with a grin.  Her abuela makes them for her all the time, and they’re still maybe the greatest thing she’s ever eaten.

Brittany bites her lip and her eyes flash. “Say that again,” she says, voice low in her throat.

Santana does, rolls the r’s a little more than she did before, just because, until Brittany laughs and looks away and Santana fixes her eyes back on the road, well pleased with herself.

She still remembers the way her abuela used to make them huge piles of food when they got in from school, and how they’d sit around the kitchen table talking and drawing and eating while her grandmother watched over them.  Her grandmother would always put their drawings up on the fridge until they were covering each other up, a hundred variations of Santana and Brittany in cartoon form, holding hands in front of her grandmother’s house under a sunny blue sky.

They weren’t on the fridge any more.  Sometimes she wants to ask her abuela if she still has them, but there’s an unspoken rule that they don’t talk about those four months when the fridge and the kitchen were empty, before her grandmother had called her out of the blue and told her to come over and to bring Brittany with her.

“You kissed me for the first time in the kitchen,” Santana says softly, eyes fixed on the road in front of her. “When we were doing the dishes, the summer before freshman year.”  She bites her lip and makes a left turn, waiting for Brittany to say something.

Her abuela had been dozing off in front of the television and Santana had never been more terrified.  She can’t really remember exactly what happened now, just remembers that Brittany had been kissing her on the cheek for weeks in a way that made her stomach flutter and made her hate herself in equal measure, and that she’d looked over at Brittany drying a plate and really wanted to kiss her, with every fibre of her being, and that Brittany had set the plate down and then looked over at her, eyes catching like she was reading some secret message in Santana’s expression.  Brittany had moved closer to her slowly, as though she was waiting for Santana to stop her, and she’d tasted like strawberry gum when she kissed her softly, lips barely pressing against Santana’s before they were gone.  She remembers the way she’d stared at Brittany, breathing hard but unable to keep the smile from the corners of her mouth, struggling to find something to say to explain away what they’d just done, and how Brittany just had this look on her face that said _finally_ before she leaned in and kissed her again.

“I wish I hadn’t been so scared,” Santana says eventually, because it’s the truth, both back then when she kissed Brittany in the kitchen, and for all the times she kissed her in secret, in bedrooms and locker rooms and under the bleachers, before senior year.

Brittany’s hand slides into hers in her lap, and she laces her fingers through Santana’s and squeezes softly.  “I know,” Brittany says simply, half a sad smile on her face.

They drive the rest of the way in silence, and when Santana pulls into her abuela’s driveway, Brittany unclips her belt and leans over to press her lips to Santana’s cheek quickly, before she gets out.

+

“Abuelita?” Santana shoves her key back into her purse and steps into the hallway, glancing into the tiny living room quickly.  It’s empty, but the television is on in the corner, and Santana can hear noises coming from the kitchen so she nods her head in that direction at Brittany, before crossing the room and heading for the door.

Her grandmother is washing dishes in the sink, but she turns when they come in and her whole face lights up when she sees them.

“Hola,” Santana says, crossing the room to hug her as Brittany echoes the greeting behind her.

Her grandmother gives her a squeeze and then pulls back to look at her with narrowed eyes, “So you remembered where your abuela lived, eh? Por fin!”

“Abuela!” Santana protests, as Brittany chuckles behind her.  “It’s only been two weeks since graduation! And I saw you on Sunday!”

“Two weeks is a long time when you’re as old as I am, and Sundays don’t count — you’re there to see God not me,” her abuela narrows her eyes and surveys her appearance critically, then glances over at Brittany as well.  Her eyes sweep up and down their bodies, and she clucks her tongue against her teeth and draws in a sharp breath. “You girls are so skinny,” she complains, “Can’t I make you something to eat?”

Brittany nudges Santana with her elbow, and Santana says, “Chimi?” quickly, with a hopeful expression on her face.

“Sí, siéntense,” her abuela says, bustling around the kitchen and pulling things out of cupboards and the refrigerator while Brittany and Santana draw out the chairs and sit down like she told them, hiding their grins.

+

They eat their sandwiches slowly, answering her abuela’s questions about their colleges and plans for next year.  She narrows her eyes a little when Brittany explains she’s sharing an apartment with a friend she knows from dance class who went to Berkeley the year before, and clucks her tongue.

“And why are you two not living together, huh? It’s bad enough you’re going to California but you’re not even going to be together?” She folds her arms and looks over at them, daring them to speak, and Santana’s reminded of the way her abuela looked whenever she did something wrong as a kid and has to resist the urge to apologise.

“I have to live in the dorms my first year, abuela,” Santana says, around a mouthful of food.

“No hables con la boca llena! And that’s no excuse!”  She definitely looks like she did when Santana was little now, eyes narrowed and glaring at them each in turn.

Santana swallows her food quickly and says, “Well—“ about to say it’s a pretty good excuse actually, before she gets interrupted again, this time by Brittany.

“We’ll be okay, Mrs. Lopez. We’ll see each other every weekend,” she flashes a smile at Santana and then looks back at Santana’s grandmother.  “I’ll make sure she gets enough to eat and doesn’t go out late at night, and I’ll get her to call you all the time and stuff.”

Her abuela nods, eyes softening a little as a smile forms on her face, “Santana, if you ever let this girl go I’m going to fly out to California just to smack you.”

“Abuela!” Santana laughs in disbelief while Brittany grins proudly next to her, and bumps their feet together under the table.

+

“San,” Brittany whispers urgently a little later, while Santana’s abuela has gone to get something from the other room. “You didn’t tell her about the road trip did you?”

“Do I look like I’m crazy?” Santana shoots back quickly, eyes flicking to the door to check her abuela can’t hear them.  “We’ll, like, call her from Indiana or something.”

“When we’re in California,” Brittany corrects her quickly, “And we’ll tell her we flew.”

+

They hang out by Quinn’s pool when they have nothing better to do, Brittany and Santana sharing a sun lounger while Quinn sits on the one next to them with a towel over her legs and loose shirt fastened around her, hiding the scars Santana knows are there, left over from the crash and all the surgery after.  

She hates that she thinks it, but part of her wonders if the scars on her skin match the scars high school left on her insides, and then she’s pulling away from Brittany and rolling onto her side to prop herself up on an elbow and eye Quinn over the top of her sun glasses.  “You won’t get a suntan dressed like that, you know.”

Quinn shrugs like she doesn’t care, but Santana can see her shift uncomfortably under her gaze, and Brittany leans over her side to look at Quinn too.  “You’re still super pretty, Quinn,” she says in the guileless way she has, and Santana knows Brittany is the only person that Quinn would ever let say that without snapping some insult back.

Quinn shakes her head and tugs at the towel over her legs, keeping her eyes on it when she says, “They just look wrong.” She swallows and shrugs a little, glancing up at them, “I’m okay, I just— They look wrong, so.” She shrugs again, and tightens her hand around the edge of the towel until her knuckles whiten.

Santana hardly dares move, aware that it’s the first time Quinn’s really spoken about how she feels after what happened when they’d usually just tease each other or pretend everything was fine.

She opens her mouth but no words come out, and then Quinn exhales noisily and looks away, the moment stretching until it’s just starting to become uncomfortable.

Brittany’s the first one to move, scrambling over the lounger and Santana until she’s standing in front of Quinn and tugging her hand from the towel gently. “Come and get in the pool with me,” she says softly, ducking her head to find Quinn’s eyes.

Santana watches as Brittany pulls Quinn to her feet, then leads her by the hand to the edge of the pool and helps her slide in.  They tread water for a minute, still joined at the hands, and then Brittany swims a little closer before pointing down through the water with her free hand.  She leans in close to Quinn’s ear, so close her lips are touching the shell of Quinn’s ear, and then Santana hears her whisper, “Now my legs look wrong too.”

Santana’s heart feels like it’s about to burst in her chest, and Quinn is looking at Brittany with exactly the same expression on her face, like she can’t quite believe Brittany is real, which is kind of how Santana feels some of the time, too.

Or maybe all the time, to be honest.

Santana hears Quinn’s breath hitch in her throat, and then she’s sliding her arms around Brittany’s neck and hugging her while Brittany kicks furiously to keep them above water, looking over at Santana helplessly as they start to sink a little, until Santana gets to her feet and jumps in next to them, wrapping her arms around both of them to help keep them afloat.  

+

Santana used to love sleeping in in the summer, but this one is different somehow, and she keeps waking up at stupid times thinking of things they need to do before they leave, and then worrying about them, unable to get back to sleep. The fifth time it happens, she tosses and turns in bed, trying to get comfortable enough to go back to sleep, Brittany murmuring complaints next to her each time she moves out of reach.

She’s starting to realise that driving across half the country is kind of terrifying and that there’s so many things they need to sort out before they leave, and every time she closes her eyes she just thinks of something else, until her mental list of things they have to do is longer than the actual list tucked inside Brittany’s desk drawer.

It’s all just sort of scary, and she snuggles a little close to Brittany without really thinking about it, until Brittany throws an arm over her stomach and buries her face in her hair.

She still can’t sleep, and she watches the light creep under the shades slowly, until she sighs, and inches out from under Brittany’s arm carefully so she doesn’t wake her.  She turns on Brittany’s computer and surfs aimlessly for a while, checking facebook and writing stupid shit on Sam’s wall just because, before she yawns and runs a hand over her face, sitting up a little straighter, and heads for Google Maps.

By the time Brittany wakes up, stretching out her whole body before climbing out of bed and padding over to slide her arms around Santana’s shoulders, Santana has three pages of notes on the route from Lima to Berkeley, a list of places they can stay and exactly how far they can drive each day.  Brittany leans over to look at the notes, eyes taking it all in slowly.

“That kind of makes it real,” Brittany says finally, eyes fixed on Santana’s handwriting covering the pages.

She’s still hanging around Santana’s neck, and Santana swallows against Brittany’s arm then reaches a hand up to wrap around her wrist, “You still want to though, right?”  She asks quickly, “Because if we need to change the plan—“

Brittany cuts her off with a kiss, just a quick press of her lips to Santana’s, and then she’s pulling back and saying, “Do I want to spend a week living out of my car with you, staying at motels and eating crappy diner food, while driving 2000 miles to go to college?” Brittany pulls her face into a mock frown, like she’s actually thinking it over, and Santana realises she’s holding her breath, even though she knows Brittany’s kidding.

“It does sound kind of crazy when you put it like that,” Santana mumbles eventually, glancing down at all her notes, suddenly embarrassed.

“It sounds kind of perfect,” Brittany corrects her, lips moving against Santana’s neck as she talks, and then Santana turns, threading her fingers into Brittany’s tousled hair and kissing her, hard, until Brittany whimpers into her mouth and pulls her back toward the bed.

+

Brittany spends three weeks in the middle of the summer teaching little kid dance classes at her dance studio, and though Santana had protested over how they wouldn’t see each other, Brittany had told her to stop being dramatic and that if she didn’t teach she wouldn’t be able to afford her half of the gas money for the trip west.  Once Santana had realised it was three weeks with less Brittany or four years with no Brittany she’d stopped protesting, but she’d still pulled her face a little, until Brittany had laughed and tackled her onto the bed, kissing every bit of exposed skin and tickling her sides until she gave in and laughed, wrapping her arms around Brittany and pulling her closer.

She’s at a bit of a loss as to how to spend her Brittany-free days, and sitting outside the studio all day like a dog waiting for its owner is a level of pathetic she isn’t willing to cross, so she consults her list and ends up settling on _pack up your room_ which both she and Brittany had made half hearted attempts at the week before, before Quinn had called and asked if they wanted to come over to hang out by the pool with her and Tina instead.

There’s no one home when she gets there, just a note from her mom on the counter addressed to _my long lost daughter_ that says her parents are both at work and that they one day hope to see her again because they’re starting to forget what she looks like.  Santana’s about to scribble a sarcastic reply when she remembers her mom can be kind of scary sometimes and in the end she takes the note and clutches it in her hand, staring at it for a moment before carrying it with her upstairs.

Her room is exactly the way she left it — three empty boxes stacked up by her closet and one standing by her desk with three books and a packet of sheets sitting forlornly at the bottom of it, the only things she’d managed to pack before Brittany had proclaimed it boring and brushed her fingers against her knee as she looked up at her with hooded eyes, murmuring about how they had plenty of time left to pack, really.

It’s kind of hard to know where to start, because she might need her clothes and there aren’t that many books she wants to take, and she can’t really pack things like her toothbrush because it’s at Brittany’s anyway.  In the end she settles for pulling the rest of the bedding she’d bought from Sheets and Things from the bag they’re still sitting in and dumping them in the box, then adds the photos she has tucked into her mirror — her parents and her abuela; three of her and Brittany at various ages; one where they’re clutching a tiny Ashley between them and beaming at the camera; and some of the photos they took at graduation with Quinn, Sam, Mike and Tina — and drops them into the box.

She makes a half hearted attempt to sort out some clothes, mostly winter things that she won’t need to wear before they leave, and forces herself to fold them up and put them in the suitcase carefully, like she’s Quinn or something, and then she laughs as she remembers Quinn’s perfectly arranged overnight bags from Cheerios competitions, compared to her carelessly packed ones and Brittany’s scrunched up clothes and odd household items she’d brought along just in case they needed them ‘for luck.’

She’s cleared out half the wardrobe when her hands find the shoebox at the back of her closet that she’d almost forgotten was there.  She draws it out slowly and lifts the lid, then smiles softly when she sees the papers inside, neatly arranged into bundles by year, her joined up scrawl contrasting sharply with Brittany’s neat, rounded hand.  She flicks through a few and laughs at the familiar words and jokes, the little doodles of Brittany’s cats and cheerleaders, notes asking for help in various classes or mocking people they’d obviously been sitting next to when they wrote them.  

She sees the hearts start to creep into their doodles at the end of middle school and into freshman year, sees the words start to talk about boys and parties and dating, all the while signing off with a scribbled _love you_ or _< 3_.  There’s a lot of notes about Quinn from sophomore year, about how she’d been slushied and how she’s been kicked off the Cheerios, and then Santana’s words get more untidy and she stops signing her name with hearts.  

There’s fewer notes from junior year, just a couple that Santana had never replied to, Brittany asking why they didn’t talk anymore, and then one on a tiny scrap of paper, dirty with tears and full of creases that says _I miss you_ in Brittany’s writing.  The bundle from senior year is huge and the one on top is a picture of a heart with their initials inside it and tiny letters underneath that say _this is the note I always wanted to write you_ , and then underneath in rounded script _I’m glad you’re writing it now_ with a smiley face.

Santana sits there for a long time looking through the notes, drinking in every word she’d forgotten, laughing at some of Brittany’s more esoteric questions from physics class that no-one else would even begin to understand.  It’s like she’s holding their entire lives in her hands, the path their relationship took to get to the point they’re at now, seeing all this evidence of things they didn’t say out loud until last year even though they’ve loved each other forever.

When she’s finished each year she wraps the rubber bands around them tightly and places them back in the box until it’s nearly full and she struggles to get the lid back on.  She holds the box in her hands for a moment, not really wanting to let it go now she’s found it again, and it takes the sound of the front door opening and closing to pull her from her thoughts.

Her mom must have seen her car in the driveway because she yells, “Santana, get down here!” up the stairs, and Santana carefully tucks the shoebox full of their notes into one of the bigger boxes, satisfying herself that it’s safe, before she bounds down the stairs with a smile on her face.

+

Sam calls her on Wednesday and asks if she wants to hang out since he knows Brittany is still teaching, and Santana says yes before she realises what day it is, and then she sighs and says, “You want to go to Alter Ego don’t you?”

“It’s new comic day, Santana,” Sam says, voice as serious as she’s ever heard it, “Where else would we go?”

“I hate you,” she says and hangs up, flopping down backwards onto her bed to wait for the text message she knows is coming.

Two minutes later her phone vibrates on her chest, and she snorts when she reads Sam’s message — _come pick me up? :)_ — and clomps downstairs to find her shoes without texting him back.

He’s grinning when he gets in her car, and she rolls her eyes as she pulls out into the traffic and heads for the store.  She still can’t believe she lets him drag her here so often that she knows exactly where the new release section is and actually leads the way, Sam a couple of steps behind her as he nods at the clerk and waves.

She finds it hilarious that half the boys from their school look at her like they’re terrified she’s in their store, although she’s been here with Sam enough, and she smirks at them just to watch them grab the books they want and scurry away, back towards the collectibles, as though a toy lightsaber could offer some protection the superheroes in their comics couldn’t.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Sam complains next to her, coming to a stop and staring up at the new comics with this ridiculous smile on his face, looking the same way a kid might if you took them to a candy store and told them they could have whatever they wanted.

“But it’s so much fun,” Santana says, reaching for a copy of _New Avengers_ and offering it to him without a word, trading it for the copy of _Batwoman_ he’s already pulled off the shelf.

She flips it open and skips through the pages, not really reading but just checking to see if—

“Renee back yet?” Sam asks, smirking at her a little over his comic.

“Shut your mouth, Renee Montoya is a badass,” Santana says quickly, shutting the comic and glaring at him.

“You just want her to hook up with Kate again,” Sam tucks the comic he’s already holding under his arm, reaching for the new _Green Lantern_ and flicking through it lazily.

“They’re hot,” Santana says, like that decides it all, “And Renee is totally better for Kate than Maggie! Renee’s The Question so there’d be none of that secret identity bullshit. They could just be badass and hot together,” she looks up from flicking through the latest issue of the   _Batgirl_ reboot—she kind of misses Oracle, to be honest—to find Sam staring at her. “What?”

“I haven’t heard you talk about comics so much since I lent you _Strangers in Paradise_ last summer,” Sam says, tucking _Green Lantern_ back onto the shelf. “It’s almost like you care.”

“Don’t you dare bring Katchoo into this,” Santana hisses, jabbing him in the chest with her finger until he bursts out laughing at the expression on her face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam says, tugging _Batwoman_ out of her arms gently. “Come on, I’m buying.”

“Don’t think that makes it up to me,” Santana says, following him to the counter, and leaning against it as he pays for their comics. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Shut up and read your lesbian superhero,” Sam says with a grin as he passes her the bag, and then dodges when Santana tries to punch him.

+

Santana picks Brittany up every evening when she finishes teaching, taking Brittany’s gym bag and hoisting it onto her shoulder before tangling their fingers together and swinging their hands between them as they head for the car.

Brittany grins at her when she opens the passenger side door for her, and steps closer, resting a hand on the small of her back as she leans in to press one chaste kiss against her cheek before she climbs in.

They drive home in silence, fingers clasped tightly together between them, just watching the familiar streets go by.  Brittany doesn’t say anything until they’re nearly at her house, and then she squeezes Santana’s fingers and murmurs, “I like it when you pick me up from work.”

“Why Britty?”  Santana asks, glancing in her mirror before turning onto Brittany’s street.

“It’s, like...” Brittany trails off for a moment, pulling her face into a frown for a second while she tries to think of what to say.  “Like... like we’re grown up. Like you picked me up on your way home from work because we only have one car and, like, this could be our house and stuff, and now we’re going to make dinner together and snuggle up on the couch.” She says finally, looking away and colouring a little, like that explains it all.

Santana just looks at her, feeling that ache in her chest again at how pretty she looks when she’s blushing and her shy smile, the way she keeps sneaking glances at her as though she’s waiting for a reaction.  She’s so busy trying to take it all in before they have to get out of the car and go back to real life, that she doesn’t notice Ashley until she’s knocking on her window and then she laughs and says, “I think our kid’s excited that we’re home,” without quite meeting Brittany’s eyes.

Brittany looks up, surprised and then she’s laughing too and leaning across the console to kiss her, until Ashley bangs on the window again and shouts, “Gross!” before she runs back to the house and disappears again.

+

Brittany has to get up stupidly early to make it to the studio in time for her classes, and Brittany’s mom had said Santana wasn’t allowed to stay over while Brittany was working, so they spend their nights snuggled up on the sofa in the basement, watching movies they’ve seen a dozen times before and exchanging kisses until they’re giddy.  Santana stays longer and longer, because Brittany holds her close and whispers that if they just stay down here her mom might forget about them, but she never does, always unfailingly knocking on the door before she opens it and asks if they know what time it is.

Brittany holds her hand and walks her to the front door, and they linger there in each other’s arms, exchanging chaste kisses and refusing to be the first to let go, Brittany looping her hands around her waist and drawing her closer until there’s so little space between them Santana only has to lift her head to find Brittany’s lips.

Ashley sees them and shouts about how they’re being gross, and then Mrs. Pierce sticks her head through the living room door and asks, “You do know you’ll see each other tomorrow, right?” with a half stern, half fond smile on her face as Santana pulls away embarrassed.

“Yes, Mrs Pierce,” she says, all contrite and downcast eyes until Brittany’s mom laughs, and then she grins a little because she can’t help it.

“See you in the morning, Santana.”

“Night, Mrs Pierce,” Santana turns to Brittany and kisses her once more, super quick because she knows Brittany’s mom is watching and that still makes her act on edge, somehow. “I’ll text you before I fall asleep.”

Brittany nods happily and moves forward to pull her into a hug until Mrs. Pierce groans again, “Oh God, stop it. Santana go home,” and then they’re all laughing as Santana ducks through the door and out into the night.

+

Sam convinces her to go see _The Avengers_ with him while Brittany’s working, since Mike bailed to go out of state with Tina to some family thing she couldn’t get out of. “The week _The Avengers_ comes out! Can you believe it?”

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” Santana says, glancing at him as she pulls into the parking lot and laughing at the way he starts to pout, which just makes his lips look even more ridiculous than they usually do.  “Poor Trouty,” Santana pats the back of his hand,  “You’ll have your boyfriend back soon.”

She keeps teasing him while they wait in line for their tickets, until he wraps an arm around her and pulls her against his side, reaching around to mess up her hair with his other hand.  She squirms out of his touch just as they get to the front, and they’re still laughing when they go to the counter together.  The woman selling the tickets smiles at them, and Sam reaches for his wallet and says, “Two for _The Avengers_ please,” before pulling out some cash.

“I’m so glad you aren’t poor any more,” Santana stage whispers as she drops her money back into her purse, and Sam rolls his eyes and nudges her with his shoulder.

“You only want me for my money.”

“Half true,” Santana grins. “You gots pretty hair too, Sammy,” she says as she reaches up to ruffle it, until he laughs and dodges out of the way.

“Here you go,” the woman offers them the tickets and grins at them conspiratorially, “Enjoy your date!” She leans over the counter a little closer to Santana and whispers, “My boyfriend wants me to see this movie too, let me know how it is when you leave, okay?”

(For a second, Santana isn’t sure what’s more surprising: that the woman thinks she and Sam are dating or that she’s apparently the only person in the entire state who didn’t see Reggie Salazar’s campaign commercial.)

Sam smiles politely and turns to walk away, but Santana freezes, half opening her mouth to say something, anything, like how she has a girlfriend actually, and how even if she didn’t she still wouldn’t date Sam again no matter how long his hair gets, but Sam notices she’s stopped and reaches for her hand to pull her away.

That makes it worse somehow, and she pulls her hand away like it burns, ignoring the flash of hurt lurking behind his eyes.  “She thinks I’m your girlfriend, don’t make it worse,” she snaps, following him towards the theatre.

“So what?” Sam asks, eyeing her in surprise.

“So it bothers me,” Santana says, folding her arms across her chest and finding a seat.

“Oh like I’m some kind of hideous thing? Thanks Santana,” he sinks down next to her and kicks his legs out under the row in front, sneaking glances at the way she’s still holding herself stiffly, arms wrapped around herself.

The don’t say anything until the lights start to dim for the previews, and then Santana huffs out a breath and says, “Do you think she ever would have looked at me and Britt like that?”

“Of course,” Sam says, offering her a Milk Dud from the box he snuck in in his pocket. “You guys are way more adorable.”

He grins at her and pulls a Tootsie Roll out of his sleeve, offering it to her like a Magician would offer one of his props, and she laughs and shakes her head at him, “Shh, the previews are starting.”

“I dislike you,” Sam says, reaching for his Milk Duds again.

“Shh,” Santana says again, before resting her head against his shoulder and taking a bite of her candy.  
   
+

On the way out of the theatre the ticket seller catches her eye, and Santana grins and calls out, “It was really good. I’m gonna take my girlfriend to see it!” and then laughs at the look on her face as she takes Sam’s hand and heads for the doors.

+

She ends up spending the last week that Brittany’s teaching hanging out with Quinn by her pool, topping up her tan and diving in to cool off when the sun shines too bright.  It’s easy and familiar, even without Brittany by her side, and she smiles at the way Quinn lies on the lounger with her legs uncovered like it’s no big deal, even though she knows it is.

Quinn’s decided she’s going to take Literature classes at Yale, so she’s working her way through a stack of books Santana thinks look spectacularly boring but Quinn insists she has to read, old things with torn dust jackets that she’d pulled from the Lima library because they were ‘classics’, and though Santana teases her endlessly about her rising pretension levels, she thinks it kind of suits her somehow.

(She remembers the stack of books that sat on the bedside table at the hospital while Quinn was recovering and the way it’d always be taller after the afternoons when Artie visited, even if she had been surprised the first time she’d found him there, fidgeting nervously next to the hospital bed while Quinn tried her hardest not to stare at his chair.)

Santana goes over the maps she’d printed out at the start of the summer and double checks the route she has marked out, where they’re going to stay and how far they have to drive each day.  It’s stupid, but she’s starting to feel nervous about it despite all her planning, like maybe crossing half the country with nothing but a car and her girlfriend to start the next stage of their lives wasn’t the best of plans no matter how romantic it had sounded at the time.  

She’s spent so long concentrating on the thought of leaving Lima and seventeen and a half years of feeling like she’s suffocating that she hasn’t really thought about what going to college means, and the seriousness of it hits her all at once, the thought that this is it, the beginning of the rest of their lives.  

It’s suddenly real somehow, like everything else was just a rehearsal.

Quinn glances over at her when she rustles through the papers and sets them down on the decking by their feet before pulling her legs up and wrapping a towel around them against the chill creeping into the air, and she glances down at the maps again before looking back up and saying, “Got it all figured out?”

 _Not really_ , Santana wants to say, but after she nods what comes out is, “I’m going to miss you.”

She’s not sure what makes her say it, whether it’s the settling darkness or the dreamy quality the entire summer seems to be taking on the closer they get to the end and them all going their separate ways, and she raises her chin defiantly when Quinn rolls her eyes and says, “You know your cell will still work in California, right?”

“Will you just shut up for five minutes and let me be nice to you?” Santana grumbles, turning away to look out over the pool, watching the way the lights in the back yard are reflected in the water, dancing and twinkling like they have one of those soft focus filters on them Brittany likes to play with on her phone.

After a second, Santana feels Quinn’s fingers creep into hers and squeeze a little, and then she says, “I’m going to miss you too, Santana,” in this quiet voice that Quinn only ever uses when all the bullshit’s been stripped away, and Santana turns to smile at her and tangle their fingers together more tightly until Quinn ducks her head and goes back to her book.

+

On the day that Brittany teaches her last class, Santana gets to the studio half an hour before the class finishes and sits in her car staring at the numbers on the clock, willing them to go faster.  It’s stupid because they’ve still seen each other in the evenings, but she’s becoming painfully aware that the summer is dwindling and they don’t have all that much time left to spend together before they’ll be spending their weeks apart at school and only seeing each other on the weekends.  

She hadn’t really thought about how hard that was going to be until now, and she isn’t sure she’ll ever get used to the idea of days without Brittany.

When there’s ten minutes to go she finds her way to the studio, surprised to find it empty except for Brittany dancing dreamily to some kind of slow music Santana doesn’t recognise, lazily spinning with her eyes closed and her arms wrapped around an imaginary partner, feet stepping in time with the beats.

She’s beautiful and graceful, and everything that ever made Santana fall in love with her in the first place.

“Britt,” Santana says softly after a moment, watching as Brittany comes to a stop, face flushing at being caught.

“Oh,” she mumbles, smiling self-consciously and running a hand through her hair. “The class finished early and I didn’t think you’d be here yet.  Let me just turn this off and lock up and—“

Santana isn’t sure when she starts moving but she’s in front of Brittany before Brittany can finish her sentence.  She holds her arms out to Brittany with a grin and watches Brittany bite her lip, brushing some of the hair out of face while she ducks her head in the way Santana knows means she’s blushing.  

“Dance with me?” Santana whispers quietly, so that Brittany has to lean in to hear it over the music.

Brittany brushes her fingers against Santana’s palm softly before her fingers slide into the gaps between Santana’s, fitting perfectly just like always.  She rests her other hand on Santana’s shoulder blade and blushes again prettily, shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth in a way that makes Santana really want to kiss her.  She doesn’t though, just slides her arm around Brittany’s waist and uses the palm on the small of her back to pull her closer until there’s no space between them, their foreheads resting together as Brittany slowly starts to move them to the beat.

She guides them through a shuffling waltz, so close they’re breathing the same air, Brittany inhaling on the downbeats while Santana’s breath hitches on the ups, and it reminds Santana of Valentine’s Day, of Quinn and Mercedes singing and grinning at them, of the way Brittany had wrapped her arms around her and pulled her so close that she could feel Brittany’s heartbeat against her chest.

It’s another reminder of what they’re leaving behind, and Santana pushes the thought away and concentrates on the feel of Brittany’s body against hers, the quiet strength that surrounds her as Brittany moves them to the music.  

It occurs to her that she’ll be leaving things behind but she gets to take things with her too, into a future that might be uncertain but it’s one they’re going to make together, and then she finds it very hard to care about the rest.

When the music stops, Santana opens her eyes to find Brittany watching her with a smile on her face and she whispers, “I love you,” without really thinking about it, easy as breathing.

“I love you too,” Brittany replies softly, hand tightening a little on Santana’s shoulder like she wants to pull her closer.  Brittany’s eyes flash and she dips her backwards, Santana’s hands gripping Brittany hard at the unexpected movement, and then Brittany kisses her until Santana’s hands relax and she lets her hold her up.

+

They hang out at the Lima Bean sometimes, Santana using the free wifi to look up places for their trip while Brittany snuggles into her side and taps at her phone, alternating between playing some game that requires her to flip her phone around really fast until it’s nothing but a blur and texting Mike.

Santana keeps sneaking glances at her, smiling at the way she bites her bottom lip between her teeth when she concentrates on her game, frowning a little as she tries to do whatever it is she’s trying to do, grinning every time she completes a level.

It’s beyond adorable, and all Santana wants to do is lean over and kiss her and then keep kissing her, not stopping until they have to leave for college, until they’re dizzy and breathless, giggling and drunk on love.

She’s pulled from her thoughts by Brittany saying, “Mike and Tina are on their way over,” and she blinks a couple of times, trying to focus on the Brittany in front of her, instead of the one kissing her in her head.

“Um,” Santana says, “What did you say?”

“Mike and Tina are coming,” Brittany cocks her head to the side and looks at her.  Santana must be staring again, because the tips of Brittany’s ears go pink, and then she laughs and says, “What? Do I have foam on my nose again?”

“No,” Santana says softly, grinning a little as she adds, “You’re perfect.”

“Dork,” Brittany says fondly, reaching over to brush her fingers against the back of Santana’s hand.

They stay like that until Mike and Tina arrive, and then Brittany squeezes Santana’s fingers before letting go so that she can climb to her feet and wave them over, Tina pulling up a chair while Mike waits in line for their drinks.

“I’m gonna go get a refill, you want one San?” Brittany waits for Santana to nod and then grabs their mugs and goes over to join Mike, who wraps her up in a quick hug as soon as she gets close enough.  Santana knows Brittany’s going to miss Mike the most when they all go their separate ways, maybe more than Quinn even, and she watches them chat happily for a moment as they edge towards the barista.  Mike looks like he’s telling Brittany something, and then Brittany jumps up and down and high fives him, and it’s the most adorable thing Santana’s seen since the last adorable thing Brittany did, which was about ten minutes ago when she did get the foam from her cappuccino on the end of her nose and hadn’t had time to wipe it away before Santana had noticed.

“What are you doing?” Tina asks after a minute, once the silence has started to stretch, and Santana wipes the love-drunk smile off her face and looks back at her computer again.

“Looking up the places we’re gonna stop on the way to California,” Santana turns her screen around so Tina can see. “Lincoln, Nebraska looks like a real party town,” she adds sarcastically, after a moment.

Tina laughs, “So you have it all planned out?”

“Pretty much,” Santana pulls her laptop back around and pats the stack of papers next to her, shoving her travel itinerary under the pile so Tina can’t see how anal she’s being about all the planning, just in case she tells Quinn because she’d never let her live it down. “I looked up a bunch of motels and stuff, just so we don’t accidentally end up with some Norman Bates wannabe.”

“That was smart,” Tina fiddles with the edges of Brittany’s discarded napkin, rolling them up a little and back down again, like she’s distracted and thinking about something else.

“Yeah, well. I have to keep Britt safe, y’know?” Santana tries to sound tough, but her voice comes out embarrassingly soft, and she coughs a little to try and hide it.

“Yeah,” Tina agrees, sounding a little more distant now. “You know you guys are really lucky. Going to college together, I mean.” She smiles sadly, “And you’re like the last glee couple standing. Finn and Rachel broke up last week.”

She doesn’t really care about that last part—Rachel is definitely better off without him and probably going to end up as one half of a celebrity power couple with the only straight guy on Broadway anyway—but the thought that she and Brittany are the only couple left scares her a little, although she isn’t really sure why. “But— you and Mike, and Kurt and Blaine,” Santana says slowly, looking up from her laptop.

“Mike and Kurt are going to college. Blaine and I aren’t,” Tina shrugs self-deprecatingly and looks away, “They’re gonna meet people.”

Santana just kind of gapes at her, because the idea of a world in which Mike and Tina aren’t together isn’t one she really wants to think about.  She’s always liked them, even when she was hating herself and hating them for being able to be so openly affectionate with each other while she was stuck sneaking glances at Brittany and hiding everything she felt.  “Are you kidding me? He’s crazy about you! He’s not even gonna look at other girls, he never does.”

Some part of her needs them to still be together, because she doesn’t quite know how to process the fact that everyone else’s high school relationships are ending and hers isn’t.  It means _something_ , she’s sure, and it feels like it’s on the tip of her tongue, or just a little out of reach.

Tina just shakes her head, but smiles anyway, “Thanks, Santana, but long distance doesn’t always work out.  Not everyone’s a fated kind of couple, y’know.”

“Come on,” Santana laughs, blushing a little at the implication that she and Brittany are a fated kind of couple which, okay, maybe she’d clung on to a little during junior year when everything was going wrong, and Brittany had said once when she’d been half asleep and Santana had stayed up half the night thinking about, but she doesn’t even really believe in fate or whatever, so.  “You wouldn’t even have to change your name if you got married. That’s some kind of fate, right?”

“Really?” Tina deadpans, “The Asian girl wouldn’t have to change her last name if she married the Asian boy?”

Santana laughs again and rolls her eyes. “Whatever Girl Chang,” she says, emphasising the nickname a little for emphasis, “You guys are meant to be, trust me on this.”  She can’t help but glance over at Brittany as she speaks, feeling her heartbeat quicken a little bit like it always does.

Tina notices the look on her face and her smile widens.

“How old were you two when you met, again?” She asks nodding towards the front of the line where Mike and Brittany are just about to order.  Santana watches Brittany lean over the counter and point at something she can’t see, chatting animatedly to Mike and the guy serving them with a little bit of a smile on her face, and feels her face grow warm.

And, like, maybe she wants to spend the rest of her life with Brittany, or just watching Brittany, or, better yet, kissing Brittany and holding her hand and doing other stupid romantic stuff for her like ordering her favourite takeout when she gets in late from work and then cuddling up to watch a movie together, tucking the blankets around her to keep her warm when she falls asleep first, exhausted from dancing all day, but it’s not because they were fated to be together or anything. Not really.

“Five,” Santana says eventually with a shit eating grin, until Tina starts to laugh and says that maybe she’ll take her word for it then.

+

They do this thing sometimes where they drive to the 7/11 and get slushies and then drive around for the rest of the evening drinking them slowly so they don’t get brain freeze.  It kind of makes Santana wish she had some old muscle car instead of the safe and reliable car her father had gotten her for her birthday, just so they could really fall into the old cliché, but also because it’s really hard to look badass while driving a Toyota, to be honest.

Brittany stares out of the window with wide eyes, watching the lights from the buildings lining the streets blur past, interested even though she’s seen them a million times before.  Santana watches her watching, when she dares look away from the road, feeling that happy ache in her chest again, bubbling up to her throat.  She coughs to clear it, and Brittany turns to look at her immediately, concern in her eyes, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Santana says honestly, because it’s the truth, and Brittany nods a little before her eyes slide back to the window.  Santana presses her foot harder against the gas pedal and wonders if she’ll ever stop getting butterflies in her belly every time she looks at Brittany.

Brittany sucks on the straw of her slushie slowly, chewing the end silently as Santana turns right and heads towards the the edge of town, and when she looks over to smile at Santana and find her hand, Santana sees how her lips are dyed the cherry red of her drink and swollen from the cold.  She wants more than anything to lean over and breathe warmth back into her mouth, and they’re pretty far out of town now, heading east towards the cemetery, so she pulls off the road and into the parking lots around the reservoir, quiet and empty, now, in the dark.

“What are we doing?” Brittany asks, mumbling a little around her straw.  Santana just looks at her, and then Brittany’s mouth quirks into a crooked grin and she says, “ _Oh_ ,” in this way that tugs at Santana low in her belly.

Brittany sets her slushie down in the cup holder carefully, more by feel than sight, and tugs on Santana’s hand until Santana leans across the console, so she can kiss her.  Her lips feel like ice, and Santana sucks them between hers, one at a time, brushing her tongue against them softly.  

She tastes like cherries, sweet and sour, and when they pull apart, breathing hard, Santana can still taste it on her tongue.

Brittany pouts a little at the loss of contact, and Santana grins, fingers still holding on to Brittany’s tightly.  She can just make out Brittany sucking on her bottom lip, like she can still feel Santana there, her eyes shining in the darkness.

Santana really wants to kiss her again, wants to scramble across the console, straddle Brittany’s hips and press her hands into Brittany’s shorts, until Brittany is moaning into her mouth between kisses and coming apart under her touch.  But they’re a little bit in the middle of nowhere and all alone, and there are still a lot of assholes in this town, so.

She turns the key in the ignition slowly and squeezes Brittany’s hand.  “We should go back.”

Brittany sighs, then nods, “Yeah.”  

Santana pulls out of the space and heads for the main road slowly, and just before they get to the junction Brittany leans across to press a kiss into the corner of Santana’s mouth.  Her lips are warm now, and then she’s falling back into her seat and reaching for her slushie again, swirling her tongue around the straw and undoing it all.

+

When they pull into Brittany’s drive, Brittany leans across to kiss her as soon as she’s turned the engine off.  Her lips are cold again from the slushie, and when her tongue darts out to lick against Santana’s, it feels like ice melting in her mouth.  Brittany’s fingers are cold too, when they brush against Santana’s cheek, so Santana turns her head to press kisses against the pads, sucking them into her mouth one by one.  Brittany whimpers a little into her ear, her other hand coming up to tangle in Santana’s hair behind her jaw, and Santana closes her eyes and leans into her, foreheads and noses pressed together.

“Less than a month,” Santana whispers into the quiet stillness of the car, eyes squeezed shut.  “And we’re leaving. We’re _leaving_.”

It comes out sounding a bit more relieved than it maybe should and she feels Brittany move a little, pressing a tiny kiss to the tip of her nose before she pulls back, and Santana opens her eyes to look at her, waiting for her to speak.  

Brittany smiles at her, a little bit sad, and says, “We’ll come back to see Ash, and your abuela, and our parents though, right? Every now and then.”

Santana hangs her head a little, suddenly feeling like she did in Brittany’s kitchen back at the beginning of the summer.  She forgets that there are things worth coming back to in Lima, sometimes; forgets that though there’s congressional campaign commercials and asshole football players, Sheets and Things clerks and religious old ladies, there’s friends and family, love and acceptance too.  “Yeah, Britt,” she breathes out heavily, nodding her head and avoiding her eyes. “We’ll come back to see them.”

Brittany smiles at her, then, really smiles at her, and Santana blushes, glad Brittany can’t see in the gloom.

“We’ll just come back for the good parts, and leave the rest behind,” Brittany murmurs and leans across to kiss her again.

Santana sighs into the contact, fingers tangling in to Brittany’s hair, and nods into the kiss; it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted.

+

They spend four days holed up in Brittany’s room just because, only getting out of bed to get food and take showers while Ashley bangs on the door and demands to know what they’re doing.  Santana finishes researching the places they’re going to be driving through and half watches the films Brittany queues up on their Netflix, comforted by the constant low level hum in the background.  Brittany pulls the blankets up around them and tucks herself into Santana’s side, fingers rubbing absentmindedly against Santana’s elbow while she chuckles at the old high school movies they’ve seen a dozen times before, and Santana concentrates on the weight of her against her, the solid warmth that’s never going to go away.

They ignore their phones, even when they both buzz half a dozen times in turns, and it’s clear one of their friends is after them.  Santana just pulls the covers over her head and ignores the noise, and after a moment Brittany tunnels under the blankets and kisses her clumsily in the darkness. They stay under there until they’re breathing recycled air, clammy and hot against each others’ mouths, and then Santana pulls the covers down so they can breathe again, and Brittany’s breath turns cool against her neck.

They stay awake until the early hours of the morning and wake up late in the afternoon, bodies pressed together and limbs tangled so tightly Santana doesn’t know where she ends and Brittany begins.  Santana sleeps in the circle of Brittany’s arms and feels safe, her face nuzzled into Brittany’s chest and tucked under her chin, so close she can feel Brittany’s heart beating against her, slow, heavy and constant, all night long.  She’s going to miss this on the nights they’re alone at college, the way Brittany is always right next to her, or wrapped around her, sleepily following her all round the bed whenever Santana can’t sleep and spends the night tossing and turning.  She curls into Brittany’s chest, one hand in her hair, the other crushed between their bodies, letting herself feel safe and protected, just for a minute, as she drifts off to sleep.

In the morning, Brittany blinks sleepily and brushes Santana’s hair away from her face, staring into her eyes long and hard, searching for something she must eventually find because after a moment she leans down and kisses Santana hard, and then they’re moving against each other and kissing desperately, hands sliding between legs as they gasp into each others’ mouths and their eyes flutter shut.

+

“It’s two weeks until we leave for college,” Brittany whispers, watching Santana pick her way around the room with her chin pooled on her arms, the sheets pulled up to her lower back hugging her curves.

“I know,” Santana reaches for her pajama pants and pulls them up her legs slowly, the old cotton soft against her skin.  She turns back to look at Brittany and feels her breath catch at the way the lamp light plays over her back, the way it glints in her hair.  She looks happy and sated, stretched out with her legs kicked up at the knee, feet twitching like they’re dancing even though she’s still.  The room’s a complete mess, all discarded clothes and dirty dishes, and it makes Brittany look even more beautiful somehow, just by comparison.

“You think maybe we should start packing?” Brittany asks, tilting her head to the side and smiling a little, nodding towards the piles of clothes on the floor.

“Nah,” Santana says, padding back over to the bed with a tank top in her hands and bending down to lean over Brittany and press a kiss to her bare shoulder. “We’ll just toss the clothes in the trunk.”

“Okay,” Brittany murmurs, tugging the tank top out of Santana’s hands and rolling over so she’s on her back, “Good, then.”

She pulls at Santana’s hips until Santana’s straddling her, one hand braced against the mattress, the other at Brittany’s hip holding herself steady, and Santana feels her pulse quicken again, even though they’ve spent all morning in bed and she’s actually a little bit concerned that more sex might kill her, which is a fear she didn’t think it was ever possible to have before this moment.  

 _Then again_ , she thinks, looking down at Brittany naked beneath her and looking up at her with hooded eyes, _there’s worse ways to go_.  

She smirks and rolls her hips against Brittany’s until Brittany grins and pushes herself into a sitting position, leaning into Santana and kissing her, threading her fingers into Santana’s hair to pull her closer.

“So if we don’t have to pack we can spend the next two weeks doing this?” Brittany asks between kisses, nuzzling her nose against Santana’s and bumping their foreheads together.

Santana’s just about to say yes when Brittany’s phone buzzes against the nightstand, and she stares in disbelief when Brittany half rolls underneath her and reaches for it, flicking her thumb against the screen until the message opens.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Santana asks, pressing her hips against Brittany’s a little more to make her point.

“Shh,” Brittany says, lifting a hand to Santana’s stomach to push her backwards.

“Seriously?”  Santana says, because it’s the only thing she can think to say.  Maybe it’s the pajama pants, because she’s fairly sure this wouldn’t be happening if she was naked.  She wonders if she can get them off without having to get off Brittany, and she tugs at the strings a little and chews her bottom lip, just in case Brittany’s looking.

“Mike wants to know if we wanna go get coffee,” Brittany finally looks up from her phone to find Santana’s narrowed eyes, ignoring the way she’s trying to draw Brittany’s attention to her waist and away from her phone.

“Coffee,” Santana says flatly.  “ _Coffee_.”

Brittany nods and glances up at her again, voice softer now as she says, “We’ve been in here for four days, San.”

“So what’s one more hour?”  Santana tries to slide her hand down to cup Brittany’s breast, but Brittany twists under her somehow and puts herself a little further out of reach, and maybe they have been hiding from everything just a little bit, but they’ve got another two weeks to see people before they leave for college so they can afford to spend a little more time here in the safety of Brittany’s room.  “Britt…”

“We should go meet them,” Brittany says softly, finding Santana’s hand and holding it, rubbing her thumb against each of Santana’s knuckles in turn.  Santana doesn’t want it to be comforting, but it is, and her fingers curl round Brittany’s of their own accord, sliding into the gaps she sometimes thinks were made just for her.

The moment stretches, Brittany watching her steadily while her thumb rubs against her fingers insistently, and then Santana exhales noisily and squeezes Brittany’s fingers, rolling her eyes a little and looking away, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Okay?”

Santana nods and ducks her head to kiss Brittany one last time before she climbs off her.  “I’m gonna kill Mike though.”

“Okay,” Brittany says again, watching as Santana gathers her clothes from the floor, searching for her bra.  

“I mean it,” Santana adds, but her heart isn’t really in it, and when she turns back to look at Brittany, she’s smiling at her in that way that always makes Santana blush and want to hang her head because Brittany’s always right, and it’s so _annoying_.

“Okay.”

+

When they get to the Lima Bean, Sam and Quinn are guarding one of the big tables with the couches while Mike waits for a refill, and when they try to join the line behind him he points at the table and says they already got them their drinks.  He grabs Brittany and asks to show her something while Tina’s in the bathroom, and Santana shrugs and leaves them to it, picking her way over to sink down into the squishy old couch cushion and inhale the scent of coffee deeply before she takes a sip, “Thanks.”

“You owe me five bucks,” Quinn says immediately, without looking up from the book she’s reading.

“Five?”  Santana hisses, peering at her coffee closely to check it doesn’t have some kind of special properties she hadn’t noticed.

Quinn rolls her eyes and slides a plate across the table towards her, glancing up from her book as she says, “It was the last one.”

“You got me the last skinny blueberry muffin? Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”  She pulls it closer, picking a crumb from the top and grinning at the taste, ignoring the way Sam hisses, “The preciousss,” and grins at her mockingly.

“I heard that,” Brittany says with a mock indignant expression as she rejoins them, Tina on her heels.

Quinn just laughs and goes back to reading her book, and Santana grins and nudges the muffin with her hand, “Want half of this? Peace offering.”

“Take it quick before she changes her mind,” Mike whispers theatrically, retaking his seat and pushing a refilled coffee cup across the table towards Tina.

“You must love me the most if you’re willing to give me your muffin.”

“I totally do,” Santana nods, expression as sincere as she knows how to make it, and then she catches sight of Mike and Sam smirking and throws a napkin at them, ruining the moment. “Oh my god, how old are you? _Shut up_.”

“Hey Britt, do you like Santana’s muffin?”  Mike’s choking on his laughter before he even finishes the sentence and Santana leans across the table to try and smack him, but he dodges out of the way and closer to Quinn instead.

“You’re a real lucky girl, you know that?” Santana grouses at Tina, while Tina shakes her head at them disapprovingly.

Mike just grins until Santana shakes her head and mutters, “Asshole,” as she reaches for the muffin, using her fingers to split it in two and setting half down on a napkin before sliding the other half on the plate over to Brittany.

“Whatever,” Mike replies, leaning forward to pick at a crumb of muffin.  Santana slaps his hand away, and pulls her half on the napkin closer, shielding it with her hand.

“You realise you’re taking your life into your hands right now?” Quinn asks, glancing up from her book to watch him make another swipe for the muffin as Santana glares at him.  “I’ve seen her almost kill a junior Cheerio for a burger you know.”

“Seriously,” Brittany adds round a mouthful of muffin, and then giggles when Santana shoots her an offended look.

“Remember when she almost maimed that girl at cheerleader nationals when she took the last piece of cherry pie?” Quinn grins at Santana gets offended all over again, especially when Brittany nods again and murmurs her agreement.  Mike takes the opportunity to pull a piece off the top of the muffin and then Santana grabs it and takes a huge bite, trying to eat as much as possible before he tries to grab it again.

“That was attractive,” Sam deadpans, starting to laugh at the look on her face.

“Says the boy who could eat it in one go if he wanted to,” Santana tries to say, but her mouth is still full and even Brittany frowns at her, unable to tell what she’s saying.

“Sorry,” Sam grins and cocks his head to the side, “I didn’t catch that.”

“I’m not going to miss any of you,” Santana lies after she chews and swallows, glaring at each of them in turn. “Not at all.”

+

The week before they leave, Santana’s abuela leaves a voicemail while they’re at the movies telling Santana that she better bring Brittany to church and the family meal afterwards on Sunday or there’ll be consequences even if she is in another state on the other side of the country.  They take turns doing each other’s hair and make-up, and fussing over each other’s clothes, wanting to look nice but not really talking about it out loud.  Brittany’s been to church and lunch a couple of times since that first time at the start of the summer but the fact that this is the last one raises the stakes somehow, especially because her abuela asked her to come, and Santana catches herself smoothing imaginary wrinkles in her dress, whenever Brittany lets go of her hand.

Her abuela tells them they both look beautiful, in Spanish and English both, and Santana sits next to her in the pews and doesn’t even flinch when Brittany drops her hand next to hers and links their pinkies together, holding on tightly until Santana has to get up to receive Communion while she waits in her seat.

The drive back to Santana’s house seems to take forever, and though her parents keep asking them questions about the road trip, Santana doesn’t really hear them all, and Brittany has to keep squeezing her hand to get her to pay attention.  

It feels like there’s a dull roaring in her ears and fog in front of her eyes, and all she can think is _this is the last Sunday with my family_ over and over, the one constant thing she’s ever had besides Brittany about to end like all the rest.

She doesn’t know if she’ll even go to church in California, though she suspects her abuela might have something to say about that and resolves not to mention it, and she wonders if they’ll still set a place for her here every week like they do for her cousin Ana who went off to college two years ago and only comes home for the holidays.

And then she wonders if they’ll keep a place for Brittany too, like they do for her cousin Jorge’s wife even though she hardly ever comes, just so she knows she’s always welcome.

+

There’s champagne at dinner and a massive banner that says _Congratulations, Santana!_ on it, which Brittany whispers is a little confusing since it sounds like they’re congratulating her on leaving, but after two glasses of champagne Santana doesn’t really care, just finds it kind of hilarious until she’s cracking up every time she sees it.

Her parents have rearranged the place settings so that Brittany can sit next to her, and she presses her foot against Santana’s under the table and leans into Santana’s side whenever no one’s looking, which isn’t as often as Santana likes since they’re surrounded by her extended family, but she looks around the table and sees all the other couples side by side and feels a flush of happiness rush through her just the same.

After they’ve said grace, Santana’s father raises his glass and and turns to look at her with with a happy smile on his face, and Santana’s fairly sure that everything’s going to get a lot more embarrassing, and shrinks in her seat a little, pre-emptively. “This is a special Sunday because it’s the last one for a while that my Santana will be with us.”  He pauses to smile and gesture at Santana, and she keeps her eyes on him to avoid seeing how everyone has turned to look at her.  She can feel Brittany squirming a little next to her, and realises everyone’s probably looking at her too, and then she wishes her dad would finish talking already so they could actually eat.

Her father must see the thought on her face because his grin widens as he continues. “I just wanted to take a moment to raise a glass to you and let you know that there’ll always be a place for you here, and Brittany as well,” he adds, turning to her, “If you want to come.”

Santana watches the blush bloom on Brittany’s face and feels like her heart is about to burst, even though a couple of her younger cousins are catcalling good-naturedly from down the table and doing their best to ruin the moment.  She reaches for Brittany’s hand, pulling her fingers away from where they’re playing with the stem on her wine glass nervously and tangles them with her own, until Brittany looks at her with a watery smile.

“I’d like that,” she says softly, half at Santana’s dad and half at her.

The silence stretches for a little while when they look at each other, grinning like idiots until her abuela looks at them sternly and says, “And when you do come back I expect you two to be married.”

Everyone laughs and starts talking again, and Brittany ducks her head shyly to avoid everyone’s eyes.  Santana falters for a minute, seeing the way her grandmother’s expression doesn’t change, the stern look that Santana knows so well and spent so much of her childhood avoiding fixed on her face.  She can’t quite tell if she’s serious, but the childish urge to blurt out the first thing she can think of in her defence rears up again and what comes out is, “But—but it’s not legal!”

She sees Brittany glance at her out of the very corners of her eyes like she’s seeing Santana for the first time, and it takes her a minute to realise she hasn’t protested the actual marriage part and then she blushes furiously and stutters, “I mean—“

But then her abuela’s face is breaking into a smile and she’s murmuring, “Oh Santanita,” before she starts to laugh along with everyone else, and when Santana turns to look, Brittany is just staring at her in that way that means she’s seeing into her soul, eyes searching for something only she can see, and then she nods, just once, and Santana has to look away.

+

The last week passes in a blur, all last minute packing and over-emotional conversations with relatives.  Her abuela calls her twice a day and shouts at her in Spanish until she agrees to call her three times a week from California, then makes her put a giggling Brittany on the phone as a witness while Santana stands next to her rolling her eyes.

They spend two last subdued afternoons at the Lima Bean with Quinn, Sam, Mike and Tina, trying hard not to talk about the fact that soon they’ll be separated by hundreds of miles instead of a few city blocks, and they all hug each other when they leave and hold on for longer than they should.  Everything’s starting to feel different now, like how Quinn kisses her cheek while they stand wrapped up together, and even though part of her really wants to give her shit for it, she just holds on tighter and buries her face in her neck instead.

Sam calls her and asks if she’s looked up a comic book shop near Stanford yet in this really nonchalant sounding voice, but what he means is _I won’t be around to lend you stuff any more_ , and Santana swallows a little before she admits it was one of the first things she did.  He comes over while Brittany’s at the last dance class she’ll ever take in Lima, clutching a copy of _X-men: First Class_ and a packet of popcorn with this sad look on his face that he keeps trying to hide whenever she looks at him.  They watch the film mostly in silence, Santana leaning into Sam’s side while he balances the popcorn bowl between them and loops an arm around her shoulders loosely.  They don’t move until the credits finish and the DVD menu is looping and then Sam says, “You’re my best friend,” in a way that makes Santana’s breath catch in the back of her throat, and she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer and murmur, “Oh Sammy,” against his hair.

They spend one last afternoon by Quinn’s pool, just staring at each other and swallowing against the lumps in their throats.  Quinn keeps looking up from her book as though she’s checking they’re still there, and Brittany shuffles the sun lounger they’re sharing closer until they’re right next to Quinn, before reaching for Quinn’s hand on one side and Santana’s on the other, tangling all their fingers together over her stomach.  “You can’t break up the unholy trinity,” she says softly, giving their hands a squeeze and looking between them steadily, and then Santana’s blinking back tears while Quinn bites her lip and nods, and then Brittany flashes a grin at them and pulls them both to their feet and into the pool with a laugh.

She has trouble sleeping the closer they get to the day they leave, and Brittany holds her tightly and presses kisses to her forehead, blinking her eyes sleepily and trying to stay awake with her.  She always nods off, but Santana doesn’t mind because she gets to watch her sleep; feeling some of the nerves ebb out of her at the way her lips part as her breathing deepens and she snuggles closer, hand fisting into her sleep shirt loosely.  She finds it hard to care about the things she’s been worrying about with Brittany asleep next to her, and she brushes some hair away from her face and kisses her forehead feather-light, hoping she doesn’t wake her before she closes her eyes and wills herself to sleep.

Two nights before they leave, they go to a party at Rachel’s house with everyone from glee, because Rachel insists that after spending three of their four high school years together they need to see each other off in style.  Santana can’t even remember what happens that well because she does a bunch of tequila shots with Puck for old time’s sake while Brittany is talking to Mike, and now all she can see is flashes; trying to out-wail Mercedes at the end of _Somebody To Love_ ; dancing with Sam and poking his lips; hugging a very surprised Rachel after more shots of tequila; spinning under Quinn’s arm and wrapping her up in a hug while the lights spin around them; grabbing Kurt’s designer jacket and running off with it while he chased her and said she’d owe him a fortune if she got tequila on it; Artie giving Quinn rides around the room on his lap while she fed him whiskey from the bottle and laughed every time they bumped into people; something about Mike and Tina that she can’t really remember but thinks maybe involved everyone taking more shots; being hugged by Brittany and Quinn and then hugging them back like she never wants to let go; and then staggering home with Brittany, hands clasped tightly between them as they held each other up; and Brittany kissing her in the dark of her room; and Brittany taking her shirt off; and Brittany—


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it’s not like she’s going to lose Santana or anything because Brittany’s pretty sure someone tied them together when they were kids with this stretchy invisible string stuff that you can never break just in case, but she’s kind of glad that Santana’s so close just the same.

They’re the last ones to arrive at Rachel’s for the party and it totally isn’t her fault because Santana had been wandering around her bedroom in her underwear trying to find something to wear and her hands had taken on a life of their own and really needed to feel just how soft Santana’s skin was.  
  
It’s still the softest, most delicate thing she’s ever felt.  
  
And it wasn’t like Santana had been complaining, so.  
  
She recognises Kurt’s car in the driveway alongside Mike’s, and she’s not sure if she’s imagining it or not but she thinks she can hear the faint thump of the stereo in the basement when they knock on the door, even though the point of having the party in the basement is so the sound doesn’t leak out and annoy the neighbours.  
  
Santana squeezes her fingers while they wait for someone to open the door, and when Brittany turns to look at her she smiles and shrugs a little like she doesn’t know what she wants, just staring at her for a minute before murmuring a quiet, “Hi.”  
  
Brittany laughs and nudges her with her shoulder, feeling her cheeks flush pink under Santana’s gaze, and Santana looks down at the ground, still smiling to herself and just a little bit bashful, until Rachel opens the door.  
  
She greets them with her usual beaming smile and a “Ladies!” and a tiny bitchy part of Brittany wonders why Rachel’s dads didn’t just have the house soundproofed years ago.  
  
“Welcome!” Rachel says as she steps aside to let them in, “If you’d like to come in I can tell you the rules for this evening before we—”  
  
Brittany catches herself just before she rolls her eyes, but Santana doesn’t bother to filter herself, holding up her hand and cutting her off with, “Where’s the booze?” before she glances towards the steps to the basement and shrugs out of her jacket.  
  
Rachel deflates, her smile dimming a little before she recovers and says, “Everyone’s in the basement. Noah seems to have put himself in charge of making drinks.” She pauses for just a second, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she watches them move towards the stairs. She shifts a little, twisting her hands together nervously, before she blurts out, “Please don’t throw up on anything or have sex in any of the rooms,” in a rush, like she can’t help herself.  
  
Brittany laughs, and Santana glances at her with shining eyes and a smirk, leaning over to whisper, “New goal for the evening,” into her ear, breath hot against her skin.  
  
+  
  
Walking into a party that’s already started always feels a little weird, like that jolt in your stomach when you think there’s another step and there isn’t; the way it feels too soon and not soon enough when your feet hit the floor.  Everyone but Kurt, Mike and Tina are drinking, and everyone’s movements are a little too big and too loud, like they’re trying hard to cover up the sadness starting to creep into the air.  
  
She sees the way everyone is holding on to each other just a little bit too tight, like they’re afraid to let go because the person might be gone if they do, and she feels Santana’s fingers creep into hers at the same time she starts to reach for her hand, so that they meet halfway before Santana pulls her hand closer and wraps her other hand around it too.  
  
They stay like that, both trying to pretend it doesn’t mean anything more than it usually does, but Brittany can feel the tension all the way up Santana’s arm and into her body, like she’s trying to keep herself from holding on too tight.  
  
Brittany glances at her and tightens her grip until Santana turns to look, her happy-sad summer smile on her face as she tugs at her hand, “Dance with me, Britty?”  
  
“Okay,” Brittany mumbles, and lets Santana pull her towards their friends.  
  
Santana leads her onto the makeshift dance floor, which is really just the space in front of the tiny stage with the chairs pushed back to make room, nudging Mercedes with her hip as she goes past and then laughing when Mercedes says they better keep walking if they know what’s good for them, the words tempered by the grin on her face.  Santana winds her way through their friends, and Quinn catches onto Brittany’s free hand when she goes past on Artie’s knee, until Brittany laughs and spins on the spot to watch them roll off, not letting go until she has to.  
  
“Stop trying to steal my girl, Fabray!’ Santana calls after her with a laugh, jerked back by the hand Brittany is still holding on to, and Brittany leans in to press a kiss to Santana’s lips just to make her stop.  
  
“You’re a dork,” Brittany whispers when they break apart, but Santana just grins and wraps her arms around her waist to pull her closer again.  
  
+  
  
They’ve only been dancing for a few minutes when Mike taps Santana on the shoulder and asks if he can cut in with a goofy grin, and Santana pretends to glare at him for a moment before she nods her head.  
  
“I’m gonna go find Sam,” she says, and Brittany is so busy watching her walk away over Mike’s shoulder that she almost forgets to listen to what he’s saying.  
  
She snaps back in and hears, “...tell me I’m doing the right thing,” and she blinks at him for a minute, trying to catch up with the conversation.  
  
“You’re doing the right thing,” she says automatically.  
  
“Britt!” Mike shifts on his feet restlessly, half spinning away and then back again to face her, and she can’t help noticing the fact that it’s almost a dance step, like he can’t help but move in time with the beat thumping out of the speakers, and her feet twitch a little like they want to join in.  
  
“Sorry,” she mumbles quietly, seeing the look on his face.  
  
“I brought it with me,” he says, pulling her off the dance floor and into the little alcove that houses the washing machine. “I still didn’t give it to her.”  
  
“Why not?” Brittany fixes him with a look, “I thought you wanted to.”  
  
“I do but— You know what happened with Finn and Rachel. God, what was I thinking?” he looks like a little boy all of a sudden, the way he did in kindergarten before they really knew each other, and she just shakes her head because he’s almost as useless as Santana is sometimes.  
  
“A promise ring isn’t a wedding ring,” she says quickly, trying to find his eyes. “And you and Tina aren’t Rachel and Finn, okay?”    
  
He nods just once, and swallows, “I can do this. I can do this.”  The second one comes out more like a question than he probably intended, and he shakes his head and looks away.  
  
“You totally got this,” Brittany agrees quickly, but she’s not sure he’s even listening anymore because his eyes have latched onto Tina on the other side of the room, and she knows how that goes.  
  
Her eyes go to Santana of their own accord, watching the way she’s laughing and leaning against Sam for support, and she smiles at Mike sheepishly when he catches her looking, the exact same expression on his face.   
  
“We got really lucky didn’t we?” he says softly, glancing over at Tina again, and when she nods bashfully he pulls her into a hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning her a little, just because.  “Thanks, Britt.”  
  
“You go get her Mikey,” she says as she lets him go, and he grins and turns, striding across the room to reach for Tina’s hand and twirl her into a dance, perfectly in time with the music just like always.  
  
+  
  
She stands still and breathes when he’s gone, content for just a second to lean against the wall and watch their friends, trying to fix the way Mike spins in his sneakers next to Tina and how Quinn stands laughing next to Sam and Santana into her mind.  She watches everyone else too; sees the way Kurt and Blaine are draped over each other on the couches and keep moving closer every time they get more than four inches apart, how Mercedes is talking to Sugar and looking at her kind of like she’s crazy, how Rachel is trying to talk to Kurt and Blaine but Finn hovers nearby, trying to insert himself into the conversation until Puck grab his arm and drags him away, pressing a cup into his hand as they go.    
  
When her eyes find Santana again, she’s already gazing back at her, a shy smile on her face that turns into a grin when their eyes meet.  She looks a little embarrassed that she’s been caught, but she doesn’t look away, just shrugs and keeps on looking, eyes soft and shining like Brittany is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.  
  
She feels like she and Santana are the only ones in the room, and she knows a blush is creeping into her cheeks the longer they stand there, until the tips of her ears burn and she laughs and rubs at her forehead with her fist while Santana’s grin widens, like she’s won something they weren’t even playing for.  
  
After a moment Santana swings her arm forward and holds up a bottle of something that looks suspiciously like tequila, her smile turning wicked, and Brittany shakes her head as Santana says something to Sam and then crosses the room towards her, bottle dangling loosely in her left hand.  
  
“Tequila?” Brittany asks once Santana gets to her, wrinkling her nose.  
  
“ _It makes me happy_ ,” Santana sings, voice cracking a little as she starts to laugh, and Brittany rolls her eyes because it doesn’t actually, and she’s held her hair back while she throws up enough times to know.  
  
She comes closer, leaning into her a little like she’s going to kiss her, but all Brittany can smell is the liquor on her breath so she presses a kiss to Santana’s cheek instead. “Where did you even get a bottle of tequila?”  
  
“Puck gave it to me,” Santana shrugs and holds the bottle up in front of her face to peer at how much is left. “He said it was for old time’s sake,” she pulls her face a little at that and then reaches her free hand over to tug at Brittany’s fingers, her expression turning happy again quickly. “Do a shot with me, Britty,” she says sweetly, swinging their hands between them, “I think there’s lime around here somewhere.”  
  
“Lime and salt,” Brittany says softly, because giving in was just sort of inevitable but there’s no way she’s drinking the stuff without something to cover the taste, and Santana grins and pulls her over to the table under the stairs that’s doubling as a bar for the evening, still gripping the bottle tightly.    
  
She picks up a couple of shot glasses before discarding them again, and then comes up with one that’s mostly clean and sets it down on the table carefully, sweeping a couple of bottles out of the way. She pours the tequila slowly until it’s almost up to the lip of the glass, and then screws the top back on the bottle before setting it down next to her elbow on the table so it’s still in reach.  
  
She grins at Brittany and nudges the shot a little closer before pushing a couple more bottles out of the way and finding the salt shaker, and then plucking a wedge of lime from a tupperwear tub hiding behind the vodka. “Rachel wouldn’t let Puck keep the knife down here,” she says by way of explanation. “And don’t ask about the old lady tupperwear.”  
  
“Gross,” Brittany mumbles, wrapping her fingers around the salt shaker.  
  
She watches Santana twirl the lime in her fingers and smirk, “Ready Britt-Britt?”  
  
Brittany nods, and Santana looks like the cat that got the cream as she puts the wedge of lime between her teeth and leans towards her, eyes flashing as she comes closer.  
  
She kind of wants to wipe the smirk off of Santana’s face, just because Santana won the looking game and thinks she can win this one too, and she leans forward to lick a trail up Santana’s neck to that spot behind her ear that makes her shudder, taking her time and sucking slowly until she feels Santana tremble a little and thread a hand into her hair to try and pull her closer.  
  
Brittany pulls back with a lazy smirk, shakes the salt out against Santana’s skin, checking it’s stuck there before leaning in to lick it off, then throws back the shot and wraps her mouth around the lime between Santana’s teeth and sucks, making sure to brush her tongue against Santana’s lips as she does so, until Santana whimpers and presses herself against her.    
  
Brittany breaks the kiss to pull the lime out of her mouth, and watches Santana compose herself enough to grumble, “I hate you,” with a little shudder and roll of her eyes, and then Brittany grins and shakes her head at the look on Santana’s face.  
  
“No you don’t,” Brittany says through her smirk, reaching for her again to pull her closer.  
  
“No I don’t,” Santana agrees, against her lips.  
  
+  
  
They do another couple of shots, laughing into each other’s mouths and sucking the lime taste from their lips, pulling their faces as the liquor burns their throats.  Brittany has never liked the taste of tequila but she likes the part with the lime and the salt and Santana kissing her in between, sucking her bottom lip between both of hers and cupping her cheek to steady herself, in a way that more than makes up for it.  
  
They don’t finish the bottle, and Santana glances around them before hiding it under the table as though that’s going to stop people from finding it, and then she laughs and pours them both a vodka lemonade before pulling Brittany over to the couch against the back wall, curling up next to her and lying with her head in Brittany’s lap.  
  
She’s content enough to sprawl there and watch everyone else have a good time, and Brittany rubs her fingers against Santana’s spine until Santana’s whole body relaxes into her, curling around her own like Lord Tubbington does when she rubs behind his ears.  It’s kind of peaceful despite the noise all around them, and Santana feels warm and reassuring where she’s pressed into Brittany’s side.  
  
And it’s not like she’s going to lose Santana or anything because Brittany’s pretty sure someone tied them together when they were kids with this stretchy invisible string stuff that you can never break just in case, but she’s kind of glad that Santana’s so close just the same.  
  
Santana watches everyone while Brittany watches Santana watching, running her fingers through strands of Santana’s hair where she’s made it wavy, following the contours until she gets to the ends then starting all over again.  Santana catcalls at their friends occasionally but there’s no malice in it, except for maybe when she starts shouting things about Finn’s awful dancing when he starts to shuffle around the dance floor, and Brittany has to hide a grin behind her hand.  
  
They sip at their drinks, Brittany slowly and Santana a little quicker, and Brittany can feel the edges of everything starting to get a little buzzy, only it doesn’t really feel all that different because the whole summer has started to feel like that lately.  It’s in the way lights seem too bright, the mirror ball spinning in the ceiling and throwing specks of light everywhere, and it’s in the way everyone has smiles on their faces that are kind of sad, like they know it’s all coming to an end.  
  
Santana glances up at her out of the corners of her eyes, almost like she’s hoping Brittany won’t notice, and Brittany squeezes her hand a little, tangling their fingers together more tightly, and hears Santana sigh happily under the music.  
  
+  
  
Someone has a playlist of all the songs they’ve ever sung together in glee club, and when _Somebody To Love_ comes on, Santana snuggles a little closer and hums along happily with a grin on her face.  
  
“I like this song,” Brittany whispers like it’s a secret, and Santana twists to look at her, eyes shining.  
  
Her smile widens and her eyes sparkle, and then she says, “You just liked the way I looked in that shirt and tie,” with a little shrug of her shoulders and the smirk that means she’s teasing.  
  
Brittany laughs and shoves at her a little, watching as Santana absorbs the force then somehow moves even closer, hooking her arm around Brittany’s legs and holding on.  
  
“Oh,” Brittany deadpans, “That must be it.”  
  
Santana laughs and presses her lips into Brittany’s thigh, then turns to look up at her again, grinning stupidly while Artie starts loudly singing his parts along with the recording, wheeling himself round Mercedes while she sings Rachel’s verse part and then laughing every time Finn glares at them.  Mercedes starts ad-libbing over the end section like she can’t help herself, swaying a little while everyone starts to cheer, and Santana pushes herself up on her elbows to get a better look.  
  
“Y’go Wheezy,” she shouts across the room, “Troubletones represent!” with this little wave of her hand that Brittany suspects is supposed to be all thug or something but just ends up being adorable, and Mercedes turns to crook a finger at Santana and beckon her closer, and then Santana’s on her feet and joining in, wailing loudly and a little bit out of key before Brittany even realises she’s gone.    
  
They take it in turns trying to outdo each other, both of them singing ridiculous runs until their voices crack and strain against the higher notes, neither wanting to be the first to give in, and then they collapse against each other laughing when Mercedes hits a note that Brittany thinks maybe breaks her ears because she can’t hear it right and wrap their arms around each other as they gasp for breath.  
  
+  
  
After, Santana sinks back down onto the couch next to her, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping one arm around them.  She’s still breathing hard like she’s run a race, and she bumps her head against Brittany’s shoulder, until Brittany slides her arm around her and pulls her close. “Your voice is so beautiful it breaks my ears,” Brittany whispers softly, leaning in to press a kiss to the shell of her ear, and Santana squirms next to her, trying to pull away but somehow ending up closer than she was to begin with.  
  
“Pretty words,” Santana murmurs almost to herself, tilting her head up to kiss the underside of Brittany’s chin. “Say more pretty words, pretty girl.”  
  
“I love you,” Brittany whispers, watching Santana’s eyes go impossibly soft and deep before she pushes herself up to bring their lips together.   
  
The kiss is gentle and lingering, Santana’s hand on the back of her head keeping her close and still, their noses and foreheads touching each time the kiss breaks.   It feels like Santana is trying to put them back together again like those old two-headed, four-armed and four-legged people Santana had told her about shyly one night in the quiet of her room, and Brittany knows it’s because she said the prettiest words of all.  
  
+  
  
They only stop kissing when Artie wheels over and coughs loudly, and Brittany untangles herself from Santana a little to see Quinn sitting in his lap, curled into his chest with one arm around his neck and the other clutching an open bottle of whiskey.  
  
“Can we help you?” Santana snarks before anyone gets a chance to say anything, hand still threaded into Brittany’s hair and rubbing softly behind her ear, and Artie looks kind of sheepish and a little bit afraid, just sort of by habit.  
  
“Quinn wanted to come over here,” Artie says by way of explanation, and Brittany knows he’s fighting hard not to look away from Santana’s glare.  
  
“Quinn can walk,” Santana replies quickly, eyes shifting over to look at her pointedly.  
  
“Rides are more fun,” Quinn says carelessly, pressing a kiss to Artie’s cheek before she scrambles off him and hands him the whiskey. “And I miss my wheels.”  
  
Something about the way she says it makes Brittany think that she isn’t talking about the chair.  
  
Artie blushes furiously and spins himself around to wheel away, glancing back over his shoulder a couple of times as he goes, and Santana rolls her eyes and huffs, looking as though she wants to say something but doesn’t at the same time.  
  
“Tell me you didn’t just let the only alcohol you had roll off with Artie,” Santana says eventually, as Quinn stares down at them, Santana’s legs still in Brittany’s lap, Brittany’s hand still tucked just under the bottom of Santana’s dress against her thigh.  
  
Quinn shakes her head in exasperation as Santana scoffs, “What kind of friend are you?”  
  
“What kind of friends are you? You’re supposed to be at a party with your friends—the _last party_ with your friends—not making out in a corner,” Quinn snaps back, holding her hand out to Brittany.  “Come and dance.”  
  
Brittany takes her hand at once, glancing at Santana apologetically and sliding out from underneath her legs.  
  
“Okay fine,” Santana says with a sigh when they both stand there looking down at her, “But drinks first.”  
  
+  
  
Brittany leaves Santana with Quinn while she goes to the bathroom, holding hands and twirling round each other in time to some Florence + the Machine song she only half recognises but knows Santana and Tina love, and watches the way the mirror ball sends lights dancing over their smiling faces as they sing along before she ducks out of the room.  
  
The bathroom’s occupied, so she leans back against the wall to wait, listening to the muffled song coming from the basement with a faint smile on her face and mumbles “Shake it out, shake it out,” along to the chorus tunelessly.  
  
She’s lost in the beat when the door opens, and she has to blink a couple of times before the figure in the door smiling at her tightly turns into Kurt, “Hey Britt.”  
  
“What’s up?” she replies automatically, still half in the other room with her vodka lemonade and Quinn and Santana, nodding along as the song finishes.  
  
“Just enjoying the soiree,” he says, with a little wave of his hand, but it looks wrong somehow, like his heart isn’t really in it.  
  
“Okay,” Brittany wrinkles her nose a little and looks at him closely to check if he’s making a joke.  “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you have too much to drink? I could get you a glass of water.”  She watches him peer down the stairs to find Blaine, hanging on Rachel’s arm and laughing at something she said, and she realises there’s more wrong than a glass of water can fix.  
  
Kurt doesn’t say anything, just watches Blaine with this kind of heartbreak expression on his face that Brittany recognises as the look Santana wears sometimes when they’re lying in the dark tracing each other’s faces with their fingertips and kissing clumsily.  
  
She doesn’t really know how something can be happy and sad at the same time, how something can be so beautiful and wonderful that it makes you hurt, but it can, and the whole night is starting to feel a little like that without her even noticing.  
  
“You’re gonna miss him,” it’s not really a question but he nods anyway, before rubbing a hand over his face.  
  
“You’re really lucky, Britt,” Kurt says eventually, with a sad little half smile on his face, before he walks away.  
  
+  
  
When Brittany goes back into the basement, Santana’s dancing up on Sam and laughing, shaking her ass at him outrageously with this massive smirk on her face while she croons lines from Trouty Mouth over the top of the song coming from the CD player and tries to poke at his lips with her fingers.  Sam’s laughing too and trying to push her away, but she keeps coming back and shouts the words louder every time he protests.  
  
It’s so ridiculous that Brittany just stops and stares, a smile creeping onto her face the longer she watches them.  
  
“I almost feel sorry for him,” Quinn says as she comes to stand next to her, huffing out a laugh when Santana wraps her arms around Sam’s neck and tries to pull him closer. “They’re ridiculous.”  
  
“We could go dirty dance next to them. San would get so jealous she’d definitely stop,” Brittany suggests, taking her drink back from Quinn and swallowing a mouthful, frowning a little and swirling it around to try and mix the vodka back into the lemonade.  
  
Quinn swirls the straw round her cup, mixing it until the coke starts to foam up a little, and then she takes a sip delicately and chuckles when Santana latches onto Sam’s arm and swings from it as he tries to fling her off. “Wouldn’t you mind? Having to dance with me?”  
  
“Why would I mind? I’d get to dance with two pretty girls tonight,” Brittany says, grinning roguishly, flirty and half serious until Quinn bursts out laughing.  
  
“ _Brittany_ ,” she says, colouring just a little in a way that makes her even prettier somehow.  
  
“What? It’s true,” Brittany shrugs and sips at her drink, watching as Santana smacks Sam’s ass and then bursts out laughing when he looks scandalized.  
  
“I should probably go help him,” Brittany says through her grin and Quinn frowns a little like she can’t believe Brittany is about to ruin her fun.  
  
“Spoil sport,” Quinn huffs, chewing on her straw, but she doesn’t make any move to help so Brittany steps towards them alone, trying to be sneaky so Santana doesn’t see her coming.  
  
The song has switched to some hip hop number that Brittany can’t remember the name of, and Santana gives up on Trouty Mouth and starts dancing like she’s a background dancer in a rap video instead, all hips and thrusts and slamming her hands down.  It’s the most ridiculous thing Brittany’s ever seen, but Santana still looks good doing it, which isn’t really fair, especially with the way she’s canting her hips out on every other beat so that Brittany can’t tear her eyes away.   
  
Santana closes her eyes and loses herself to the music, and it takes Sam a few seconds to realise she’s stopped paying attention to him, and then he takes a couple of steps backwards and away, grinning at Brittany and flashing her a thumbs up as he goes.  Brittany’s more interested in the way Santana’s hips are moving than Sam disappearing so she waits until the beat comes back around before she presses herself into Santana’s back, matching her body to Santana’s and sliding her fingers down Santana’s sides to find her hips and sway them to the thuds of the kick drum.  “You dance good, shorty.”  
  
“You’re my shorty,” Santana says immediately, but she presses herself backwards into Brittany’s body all the same, one hand coming up to reach backwards and tangle into Brittany’s hair.  
  
“But I’m taller than you,” Brittany says into her ear, pressing a kiss there to prove it when the beat drops, just because.  
  
“Shh,” Santana says, somehow managing to pull her even closer with the hand in her hair, and Brittany feels her eyes drift shut of their own accord as she breathes her in, perfume and shampoo and tequila all mingled together.  
  
“Just dance,” Santana says, so Brittany does.  
  
+  
  
Their drinks run out, and Santana says she’ll make more, pulling the cup from Brittany’s hand before she can really disagree. She feels light and airy, like nothing’s quite real, and she spins in slow circles in time with the music, just waiting for Santana to come back.   
  
She opens her eyes when she feels a hand creep into hers, and finds Quinn in front of her looking a little embarrassed, “Wanna dance?”  
  
“Hey,” Brittany grins, and twirls Quinn under her arm until she’s smiling too and having to lean into Brittany’s side to keep herself upright.  
  
“Stop making the room spin,” Quinn laughs, fingers clutching at Brittany’s sleeve as she wobbles a little on her feet.  
  
“Okay,” Brittany says with a grin, pulling her closer so she can wrap her arms around her and pick her up, spinning them both on the spot until Quinn is laughing against her ear and all she can see is a halo of blonde whipping around their heads.  
  
+  
  
Santana clatters into them while they’re spinning, nearly spilling their drinks but managing not to, and Brittany takes in the flush on her cheeks and the shine in her eyes before she says, “You had more tequila didn’t you?”  
  
“No,” Santana says, shaking her head harder than she needs to, then, “Yeah. But I gave the rest of the bottle to Puck.”  
  
“Tequila makes you sick, baby,” Brittany pouts a little and moves closer, toying with the strap of Santana’s dress and brushing her fingers against her shoulder, remembering all the times she’d found her curled up in a bathroom at parties their sophomore year, whimpering and calling her name.  
  
She looks at Santana through her lashes and slides her hands round to the small of her back, palms flat against her spine, feeling Santana lean into her a little more and watching her bite her lip.  “Santana,” she says softly, finding her eyes and waiting.  
  
Santana looks back at her for a second, the grin falling from her face, and Brittany knows she’s going to give in even before she sighs and holds her drink out to Quinn. “Do you want this? I need to go get a glass of water.”  
  
Quinn takes it with wide eyes, watching Santana glance at Brittany like she’s seeking approval before she slinks off, and then laughs a little, like she can’t believe that just happened.  
  
“What?” Brittany asks innocently, sipping at her drink and watching Santana disappear up the stairs.  
  
+  
  
She’s dancing with Mike and Tina when Santana taps her on the shoulder looking sheepish, and she squeaks a little when Brittany pulls her into her arms, hands finding her hips and sliding around her waist as she rests her lips against Santana’s forehead.  
  
“Feeling better?”  
  
Santana nods her head against her. “Thank you for taking care of me, Britty,” she says in a sweet little voice, quietly so no one else can hear.  
  
Brittany shrugs because what else would she do? and she feels Santana snuggle into her a little more, bumping her forehead against her chin.  
  
Brittany kisses the soft skin between her eyebrows again and then pulls back a little to look down at her, offering her the rest of her drink, “Do you want this? I’ve got too many bubbles in me to drink anymore. I think I could float if you put me in the ocean.”  
  
“You could be like my life preserver.” Santana grins, taking the drink from her hand and swallowing what’s left before glancing around to check Rachel isn’t near and dropping the cup on the floor.  
  
“Okay,” Brittany murmurs, looking down as Santana looks up, her arms creeping around Brittany’s neck as she stands up on her tiptoes and closes the distance between them.  
  
+  
  
Somehow Puck talks Rachel into doing a shot of tequila before the bottle runs out, and Santana stops dancing to watch because she says it’s going to be hilarious, especially when Rachel says she’ll do it without the salt and lime with this little look at Finn like she’s challenging him to something.   
  
Puck pours the shots, one for him and Rachel and then one for Santana when she whines a little and glances sideways at Brittany, and then Brittany sighs because she knows she’s going to end up with one too.   
  
Rachel peers into the glass suspiciously and wrinkles her nose at the smell, and Santana rolls her eyes and nudges Puck, slurring, “Let’s show her how to do it,” while she wraps her fingers carefully around the glass.   
  
Puck’s never been one to back away from a challenge, so he grabs his own and grins, whispers something to Santana that Brittany doesn’t catch but makes Santana snort, and then they both clink their glasses together and throw them back with a casualness Brittany knows they’ve had to practice because she can still remember the first time the two of them had tequila at a party and she found them curled up together in Matt Rutherford’s bathtub looking like they were about to die.  
  
She still remembers how scared she’d been and how she’d shouted at Puck for an hour before she’d managed to get Santana upright and take her home, and she remembers how Santana had admitted, quietly and apologetically three weeks later, that she was the one who got the liquor without meeting her eyes.  
  
Rachel watches them and swallows a little, eyes wide as she glances down at her glass again.  Brittany almost feels sorry for her, but it’s not like taking a shot of tequila is hard, so she just drinks hers back with a little grimace as the liquor burns down her throat—she misses the part with the lime and Santana’s mouth to be honest—then  looks at Rachel until she picks up her glass and swallows again.  “It smells like gasoline,” she says to no-one at all as she brings it closer, and then braces herself and throws it back.  
  
Her eyes widen but she doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t even cough which Brittany had half expected, and Puck slaps her on the back and laughs. “Fuck yeah!” he crows, taking the opportunity to divide the last liquor in the bottle between the four glasses like he hopes no one will notice.  
  
And then Santana leans forward and pulls Rachel into a hug—Rachel kind of stiffens a bit and squeaks at the contact—and then Santana’s patting her on the back magnanimously and saying, “Y’did good,” like it’s the highest honour she could bestow.  
  
Brittany rolls her eyes and is the first one to knock her second drink back, reaching for Santana’s hand to pull her away before Santana knows what’s happening, her shot standing forgotten on the table.

“Britt,” Santana says, letting herself be pulled along. “Where are we going?”  
  
“Bathroom?” Brittany asks, glancing back to make sure Santana catches her meaning.  
  
She does because she bites at her bottom lip before she speaks, voice a little bit lower than it had been before, “What about the rules?”  
  
“Our rules or Rachel’s rules?” Brittany asks, a little surprised at the edge in her voice. She swallows to try and clear her throat.  
  
“Our rules,” Santana says at once, fixing her with an odd look. “I don’t care about Berry’s rules.”  
  
“There’s no rule against making out,” Brittany says softly, turning to smile at her when they reach the bathroom door, “Unless you don’t wanna.”  
  
Santana swallows visibly, glancing at the door and then back towards the noise drifting up from the stairs. She leans back against the door, fumbling behind her for the handle, her other hand tangling into Brittany’s hair behind her ear and urging her closer.  
  
“Kiss me,” she says softly, glancing up through her lashes, and Brittany does as she’s told, finding her lips as Santana tumbles them backwards through the door, and then pushes Brittany up against it, her whole body leaning into her and pinning her there as the kiss deepens.  
  
She almost thinks it’s not really an end of high school party unless one of them is pushing the other against a door and trying to work their fingers into her clothes, and Brittany hums into Santana’s mouth and kisses her hard, tasting a weird combination of tequila and strawberries from her lip gloss, so uniquely Santana that it makes her toes curl inside her sneakers as she pulls her closer.  
  
Santana threads a hand into her hair and stands on her tiptoes so that they’re the same height, leaning against Brittany to hold herself up as she sucks on Brittany’s jaw.  It takes Brittany back to their freshman and sophomore years, when every party ended with them pressed against each other in the dark, Santana tasting like whatever cheap whiskey Puck had gotten hold of and refusing to meet her eyes.   
  
It’s all so different now, easy and light the way Brittany always wanted and always knew it could be, and when she pulls back a little from Santana to find her eyes, Santana meets them and grins hard, bumping her nose against Brittany’s a little, “Hey.”  
  
“Hi,” Brittany murmurs back, reaching to brush a strand of hair away from Santana’s face.  Brittany really wants to tell her that she loves her, but Santana’s still kind of a weepy drunk, even if it’s mostly happy tears these days instead of sad and frustrated ones, and she doesn’t want to risk it.  She presses their lips together instead and tries to kiss the words into her mouth, which is really the only way she knows how to kiss Santana, and the only way she’s ever kissed Santana, ever since they were fourteen.  
  
Santana’s hands are starting to creep towards her waist when someone bangs on the door, and Santana laughs and pulls back, burying her head in Brittany’s shoulder.  
  
“Britt,” Mike bangs his fist against the door again, so hard Brittany can feel the vibrations rumble through her bones and into Santana. “Britt,” he says again, “I’m gonna do it now.”  
  
“Yeah,” Santana shoots back through the door, “That’s what Britts and I are trying to do too. Go away.”  
  
Brittany stifles her laugh with her hand and shushes her, pushing her away towards the sink when her hand starts to creep again.  “Remember the rules,” she whispers so Mike can’t hear, watching Santana pout but nod, straightening her dress a little where Brittany twisted it with her hands.   
  
“Are you okay?” Brittany calls through the door, glancing at Santana one last time as she turns away.  
  
There’s a second’s delay before he says no, almost like he’s weighing up if Santana will remember and rib him about it after, but Santana’s too busy looking at her quizzically to really register the response, unsure what’s going on.  
  
“I gotta go talk to Mike,” Brittany says, pulling Santana in for another quick kiss then breaking away before it can deepen.  
  
Santana sighs like she’s the most put upon person in the world, and it almost makes Brittany want to lean back in but she resists, just reaches behind her to unlock the door and grip the handle.  “Come back to the party?” Brittany says, ignoring Santana’s faint mumbles of protest, and waits until Santana nods and says she’ll be right behind her before she opens the door.  
  
Brittany nearly collides with Mike, still standing with his hand half raised and a surprised look on his face like he was about to start banging again, and he stares at her for a moment then averts his eyes quickly and shifts awkwardly. “Um, Britt? Your shirt.”  
  
“Right,” she says, pulling it back down from where Santana had pushed it up above her bra on one side, fighting a little when she realises the reason it was hooked there is because Santana had managed to get some of it stuck under her bra strap and then grins brightly once she’s covered. “So Tina?”  
  
“Tina,” Mike agrees.  He swallows and fishes his hand into his pocket, and Brittany knows he’s searching for the ring, just to check it’s still there.  
  
“Just like we said, Mike, you got this.”  She bumps her fist against his and nudges him with her shoulder until he smiles and nods, and then follows him back down to the party.  
  
+  
  
Santana stumbles into her side just as Mike is pulling Tina away from everyone else and opening the ring box to offer it to her, and Brittany hears her suck in her breath and murmur, “Shit,” under her breath.  
  
“What’s he doing?”  She asks after a second, voice kind of high, and when Brittany glances at her she’s still staring like she doesn’t understand what she’s seeing.  
  
“Giving her a ring,” Brittany says softly, reaching down to tangle her fingers through Santana’s.  “Promising he’ll still be with her even if he’s not with her with her when he’s in New York.”  
  
Santana shivers a little and leans into her, just enough so that Brittany notices, and she doesn’t know if it’s because of the drink or if she’s cold or.  
  
“He’s asking her to marry him?”  Santana asks wonderingly, like the thought hadn’t even really occurred to her.  They watch in silence, bodies kind of curling into each other like they’re being pulled by some invisible force, and then Santana snorts and says, “But he isn’t even kneeling.”  
  
Brittany shakes her head, because she and Mike had talked about this and it wasn’t a proposal, just a promise that they’d still be together when they were far away.  Brittany likes the idea of it, the old fashioned romance of it, like they were going steady in some old fifties movie and Mike was giving her his class ring or a pin or something.   
  
She glances down at the friendship bracelet on Santana’s wrist out of the corners of her eyes so Santana won’t notice, then twists the arm not holding Santana’s hand a little so she can feel the weight of her own bracelet against her skin.    
  
“Shit,” Santana says again, like that covers it all, watching Tina break into a smile and slip the ring onto her finger before falling into Mike’s arms.   
  
“I know,” Brittany says, because she does, tightening her hand around Santana’s fingers without really thinking about it.  
  
The silence between them stretches, filled with the steady thump-thump of the song from the stereo.  They’re close together now, so close Brittany can feel the warm press of Santana all down the length of her, and she lets go of Santana’s hand to bring her arm up around Santana’s shoulder, fingers curling around her tightly and pressing into her skin.   
  
Santana hides her face against Brittany’s arm and Brittany feels her lips through the thin material of her shirt, opening and closing like she’s trying to say something.   
  
They stay there for a minute, watching Mike and Tina finally break apart and grin at each other and then Santana whispers, “When I ask y’to marry me I’ma go down on one knee,” voice hushed and a little hoarse, like it’s the biggest secret in the world.  Her words are a little slurred from the alcohol but Brittany can hear the sincerity in them, and it feels a little like they’re balanced on the edge of something and about to fall off.  
  
Everything just kind of fades, like her eyes and ears have suddenly stopped working and all she has is her hands to make sense of the world; she can’t hear the music anymore or see her friends, her entire world narrowed to the feeling of Santana against her side, her skin tingling everywhere it meets hers.  Santana is silent, her face still pressed into her arm, and Brittany is almost afraid to breathe in case she ruins it so she holds the air in her lungs until it starts to burn then exhales slowly, fingers stroking against Santana’s arm carefully.  
  
Santana shifts a little and it’s like the music comes back on, like her ears are popping like on the plane to New York junior year while Santana held her hand under a blanket where no-one could see.   
  
Brittany turns to look at her, mouth opening to say something she hasn’t really thought of yet, but then Santana’s already pulling away to grab a bottle of something from the drinks table and striding across the room towards Mike and Tina shouting, “Changs! Let’s do shots!” and the moment is lost.  
  
+  
  
They’re dancing with Sam and Mercedes when they hear running feet on the stairs and the bathroom door slamming upstairs, and Brittany exchanges a quizzical glance with Mercedes before Santana sighs and says, “That’s Rachel.”  
  
“How do you know?” Mercedes asks, folding her arms over her chest and cocking her head to the side, waiting for an explanation.  
  
“Because there’s always a point at a party where some crying girl locks herself in a bathroom because of some douchebag guy,” Santana says matter of factly, sipping at her drink.  “We’re at a party at Rachel Berry’s house. You think the diva ain’t gonna show up to her own show?”  
  
“Finn isn’t worth crying over,” Brittany says, pulling her face, and feels a stab of satisfaction when the others agree with her.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Santana says to Mercedes, who’s looking over at the stairs like she wants to go and help. “Every crying girl has a gay guy to talk her down.” She points over at Kurt disappearing up the stairs, “He’ll get rid of Finn and help her reapply her mascara.”  
  
+  
  
When Rachel comes down, it’s just after they’ve heard the faint sound of the front door slamming, and when Brittany looks for him Finn is nowhere to be found. Kurt and Blaine drag Rachel onto the dance floor, and Brittany watches Santana nod at her, a kind of impressed expression on her face, until Rachel smiles back shyly and twirls under Kurt’s arm.  
  
+  
  
Mike gets her a rum and coke and then dances with her until the room starts to spin a little, just around the edges. She feels kind of like she’s moving in slow motion, like all her limbs are heavy and the air is pushing back against her and offering resistance.  It’s like she’s dancing under water only she can breathe here, and when she looks at Mike he’s got the same dreamy expression on his face like he can feel it too.  
  
Her eyes drift shut as Mike grabs her hand and twirls her around, trusting him to keep her from bouncing into people while she sees the lights shift through her eyelids, light and dark then dark and light over and over.   
  
She feels hands on her waist and knows they’re Santana’s; feels warm breath against her neck and knows Santana’s lips are about to fasten on her pulse point and suck until her knees buckle; and she lets herself fall backwards into her, body curling and seeking and pressing and—  
  
+  
  
Santana goes to get their coats while Brittany hugs everyone goodbye, wrapping her arms around Mike and Tina extra tight, pretending she doesn’t notice the tears in their eyes, and it’s only when she hears shouting and turns to look that she sees Kurt sprinting after Santana like he’s about to hit her.   
  
She’s taken three steps towards them before her brain catches up and she starts to laugh as she realises Santana’s got Kurt’s jacket on with all the ridiculous straps and buttons fastened up wrong and Blaine’s doubled up watching them run round, laughing at how ridiculous it looks on her and the utter horror on Kurt’s face.  Kurt’s shouting about how it’s dry clean only and she better not spill anything on it, and Brittany steps into her path and grabs her when she gets too close.  
  
She pulls the jacket off Santana, which isn’t easy because Santana’s hunched over laughing at the look on Kurt’s face and won’t pay attention, but she manages and pushes the jacket back towards Kurt as Blaine comes over to stand next to them, still laughing a little as he leans into Kurt’s side.   
  
Kurt turns the jacket over in his hands to double check it’s all clean, and then glares at Santana, eyes narrowed like she’d actually insulted him, “What the hell, Santana?”  
  
“I was just making sure you guys remembered how to laugh,” Santana says, voice suddenly serious as she fixes them with a look and points a finger at them.  She sways on her feet a little and then catches herself as Blaine wraps his arm around Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt turns into him, smile just starting to tug at the corners of his mouth.  “And I looked good,” Santana adds, with a little bit of swagger as she starts to pull Brittany away, “Don’t deny it!”  
  
And then they all crack up as they break apart, and head their separate ways.  
  
+  
  
Just before they get to the door Quinn steps in front of them, and they all stare at each other for about three seconds before Santana starts sobbing hysterically and Quinn tries to roll her eyes through the tears in them but just sort of fails.  No one moves, and it’s like there’s some kind of force-field between them keeping them apart, and it’s just so stupid that Brittany tries to laugh a little, only it catches in her throat and she can’t, she can’t.  
  
“I don’t want to go to Yale without you,” Quinn mumbles sort of desperately, swallowing hard against her sobs, and Brittany steps forward, force-field be damned, and wraps her arms around her tightly, burying her face in her hair as Santana thuds into her back and tries to wrap her arms around the both of them.  
  
“You know your cell will still work in New Haven, right?” Santana asks brokenly from over Brittany’s shoulder, and Quinn huffs out a stilted laugh even though Brittany doesn’t understand why.  
  
“Shut up and let me be nice to you,” Quinn replies quickly, sniffing hard between the words, “For five minutes.” And then Santana takes a step to the side and worms her way between Quinn and Brittany, until she has one arm round Brittany’s back and the other fisted in the front of Quinn’s jacket while Brittany holds them both close, foreheads bumping every time one of them takes a breath.  
  
Quinn feels small in her arms, and Santana feels small between them, and she wonders if she feels small to them and why they’re still so small when they’re supposed to be grown up.  Santana would probably know why, if she asked, or Quinn maybe, but Brittany doesn’t.  It doesn’t make any sense, and the more she thinks about it the more her heart tightens painfully in her chest, so she just pulls them both closer and tries not to think at all.  
  
+  
  
Quinn turns down a ride with Mike and Tina so she can leave with them, and they walk in silence, Quinn in the middle with Santana on one side and Brittany on the other, arms linked together tightly.  
  
“I still can’t believe we survived high school,” Quinn says eventually, once they’re nearly at her house.  
  
“I can’t believe a lot of things,” Santana replies quickly, glancing down at Quinn’s legs and then up at Brittany, eyes soft in the dark.   
  
Brittany smiles back bashfully, until Quinn glances between them and rolls her eyes, and Santana laughs and shoves her with her hip.  
  
“We had each other,” Brittany says once they’ve stopped scuffling, and turns her head to find Quinn’s eyes, “Maybe not as much as we should have sometimes, but.”  
  
Quinn shakes her head and doesn’t say anything, and Santana pulls her closer so she can rest her head on her shoulder as they walk, so that Brittany has to unhook their arms and take Quinn’s hand instead, rubbing her thumb into the space between her knuckles the same way she does with Santana.  
  
“I love you guys,” Quinn mumbles softly, when they come to a stop outside her house and just stare at each other, unsure what to say or do.  
  
Santana sniffs and nods, pulling Quinn into a tight hug, and Brittany’s pretty sure she hears her whisper, “Love you too,” into Quinn’s hair.  
  
They break apart and grin at each other, Santana wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand and rolling her eyes at herself while Quinn laughs through the tears falling down her cheeks.   
  
Brittany watches them for a long moment before she slides her arms around Quinn’s stomach from behind, pressing her face into her hair and kissing her softly on the cheek, just because. “I love you too, Quinn.”  
  
“I know, Britt,” Quinn laughs and half turns to nudge Brittany with her nose. “I know.”  
  
+  
  
“Hey Britt, you remember that song?”  Santana asks when they’re on the way home, stumbling every now and then and leaning into Brittany as they cover the streets between her house and Quinn’s.  She hums something that’s probably supposed to be a tune, but Brittany can’t hear her that well because everything sounds like it’s coming from far away.  
  
“What song?”  
  
“That song from _The OC_ ,” Santana prompts her, swaying a little on her feet.  “You know, _California, here we come_ …” she sings, louder than she should in the late night streets and then laughs when Brittany tries to shush her.   
  
“Sing with me, Britty,” she whines sweetly, coming to a stop and tugging on her hand.  
  
Brittany rolls her eyes but she’s laughing all the same, whisper-singing the words against her lips when she leans in to kiss her.  
  
Santana’s the first one to pull back, her eyes shining brightly in the dark in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol she’s drank, and then she pulls on Brittany’s hand and starts to run, until Brittany has to break into a jog to keep up, breathless and giggling as the world spins around them and Santana sings “ _California, here we come_!” over and over again, as loudly as she can.  
  
+  
  
Brittany fumbles with her key trying to unlock the door, pretty sure the lock keeps moving every time the key gets close, and Santana laughs into her shoulder in an attempt to muffle her giggles.  Santana kicks her shoes off when they finally get inside and nearly overbalances, clutching at Brittany’s hand to try and hold herself up, and Brittany chokes back her laughter at the look on her face, like Santana’s surprised the floor isn’t quite where she left it.  
  
“You look so cute right now,” Brittany tells her shutting the door a little more loudly than she should, and Santana’s eyes flash as she comes closer, backing Brittany into the wall, hands finding her hips and tugging their bodies together.  
  
“You look cute all the time,” Santana replies after a second, leaning closer to kiss her jaw and trail her lips up to her ear.  
  
“Good comeback,” Brittany deadpans, hands sliding into Santana’s hair as she tilts her head to offer her more room.  
  
Santana huffs out a breath of air against her neck and she shivers, the rush of air feeling cold against the hot spots Santana’s been sucking on. She’s just biting her lip and tugging Santana’s face up so she can kiss her when a distant part of her mind registers footsteps on the stairs.  
  
“Brittany Pierce!” her mom whisper-shouts, torn between anger and needing to be quiet so as not to wake her dad or sister. “What do you think you’re doing?”  
  
She freezes, feeling all the colour drain from her face, but Santana springs away from her so fast she nearly crashes into the opposite wall, swaying a little on her feet as her hands twist nervously against each other. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Pierce. I—“ she stutters, bringing her hand up to cover her face and looking horrified.  
  
“Mom, we were just going to bed,” Brittany adds her voice coming out a little louder than she intended, and then she winces at how that sounds. “I mean—“  
  
“Go and get a glass of water. Both of you,” she adds when Santana doesn’t move.  “And go to bed.” Brittany thinks her mom almost blushes at her choice of words, then adds, “I mean go to sleep!”  
  
Brittany kind of wishes her mom hadn’t reconciled herself to them sleeping in the same room even when they told her they were dating, because it makes everything so much more awkward when she’s telling them to go to bed five seconds after catching them making out against a wall, and Santana looks at her like she’s wishing the earth could swallow her up at any moment, blushing so furiously she looks like she’ll never stop.  
  
She walks into the kitchen carefully, placing her feet deliberately as she grabs a glass and fills it, waiting for Santana to do the same, watching as her hand shakes a little and her knuckles turn white around the glass.  Lord Tubbington raises his head to regard them lazily from his bed, and Brittany isn’t sure how but even he looks like he’s disappointed in them.  
  
She didn’t even know cats could be disappointed.  
  
“Stop looking at us like that,” she whispers sternly, and Santana starts, nearly spilling her water, like her mom has come into the kitchen and caught them again, even though they’re not even doing anything.  
  
Santana huffs out a sharp breath when Brittany reaches out a hand to steady her and lurches away from her, the water in her glass swaying dangerously close to the edge. “Stop it,” Santana hisses, eyes wide and panicked as she takes a deliberate step away from her before following her back to the stairs, so that Brittany couldn’t reach out and touch her even if she tried, and they file past her mom in silence, heads downcast and eyes on the floor.   
  
Her mom follows them until they’re at Brittany’s door, and it somehow feels like Brittany can hear the way she’s glaring at them, so that she wants to cover her ears and ask her to stop.  She looks disappointed when she whispers, “Go to sleep, right now. I’ll talk to you about this in the morning,” and that’s the worst thing of all, worse even than the promise of a conversation in the morning, and Brittany bites her lip and nods.  
  
“We’re sorry, mom.” She whispers, putting her hand against the doorframe to steady herself, “We’ll go to sleep now.”  
  
“You better,” her mom mutters as she disappears down the hall, pausing outside Ashley’s door to check she’s still asleep before she disappears into her own room.  
  
Brittany closes the door softly and turns round to find Santana face down on the bed, arms wrapped around her head. “Oh my fucking God,” she whispers hoarsely, sounding more than a little hysterical.  
  
Brittany puts her water down on the desk and cross the room to sink down next to her, feeling Santana slide towards her a little as the bed dips under her weight. “Well,” Brittany says, “That was fun.” She reaches out to put her hand on Santana’s back and then jumps when Santana rolls away from her quickly, eyes wide as she stops on the very edge of the bed, as far away from Brittany as she can get.  
  
“Oh my God don’t touch me,” Santana says frantically. “Your mom’ll see through the walls or something.”  
  
Brittany stifles a giggle, aware that they still have to be quiet, and reaches towards her again, “Come on, San, that was funny.”  
  
“That was mortifying!” Santana replies, the edge back in her voice. “Your mom saw me trying to give you a hickey! Oh my God. I’m so glad we’re leaving in two days. I can never come home again.”  
  
Brittany watches her murmur to herself frantically, the words getting quieter and quieter until she can’t hear them at all, and then she leans forward on her elbows to kiss her and cut her off, Santana going stiff against her. She brings her hands up like she wants to push Brittany away, but they tangle into Brittany’s shirt instead and pull her closer at the last minute, almost like they can’t help themselves.  
  
“Stop it,” Santana whispers against her lips, but she kisses her back anyway, and Brittany smiles into the next kiss, tracing her fingertips against Santana’s cheekbones softly.  
  
“Say it was funny,” Brittany says, grinning through the darkness, and Santana shakes her head, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  
  
“I can’t, I have PTSD,” she replies with a shake of her head, but she’s smiling now, and Brittany grins back, tucking a strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear, well pleased with herself.  
  
“My mom caught us making out,” Brittany whispers, exhaling heavily. “Two days before we leave for college. Like, we almost made it out but no.”  
  
“Oh God,” Santana murmurs again, running her hand through her hair and flopping backwards to sink into the pillows again.  
  
Brittany lies down next to her, bumping Santana’s elbow with hers and knocking their feet together. Santana’s silent, eyes shut and her hands crossed over her stomach, and Brittany rolls onto her side and nuzzles closer, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. “She wants to talk to us in the morning.”  
  
Santana groans and pulls the pillow over her head. “I’ll just sneak out your window instead. She’ll never know I was here.”  
  
“I don’t think she’s going to forget you giving her oldest daughter a hickey in the hallway,” Brittany grins, trying not to laugh at the noise Santana makes, somewhere between a strangled cough and a laugh.  
  
+  
  
“Baby,” Brittany murmurs later, “You can’t sleep in your dress.”  
  
Santana shifts a little against her chest, tightening the hand in her hair and half shaking her head, “But I’m comfy.”  
  
“I’ll undress you,” Brittany says, trailing her fingers down Santana’s back until she shivers, trying to find the zipper.  
  
“The rules,” Santana says through a yawn, as Brittany finds the little piece of metal and tugs it down slowly. “No naked people when drunk.”  
  
“It’s no sex when drunk,” Brittany replies softly, kissing her shoulder and rolling them over and into a sitting position so she can get her dress off. “Because we’re not sixteen any more, right?”   
  
She pushes the rest of the thought away, of nights in the dark after parties and alcohol, of avoiding eyes, choked off gasps, and the panic behind Santana’s eyes, replacing them with sunlight and smiling kisses, roller coasters and prom night, the way Santana feels pressed against her as she pulls her closer instead.  
  
Santana nods sleepily as Brittany runs the finger tips of one hand over Santana’s skin, over her shoulders and collarbones and then lower to rest in the small of her back as she unhooks her bra with the other. Santana is soft in her arms, letting Brittany lead her out of her clothes with perfect trust, and she replaces the fabric with the tips of her fingers and her lips, kissing a trail over Santana’s skin.   
  
When Santana is in nothing but her underwear, lacy and black and perfect in a way Brittany can’t stop staring at, she slides her arms around Brittany’s neck and murmurs, “Now you, Britty,” into her ear, using the tiny voice she only ever uses when they’re alone together, and Brittany can feel herself shivering against her.  
  
“I want to feel you,” Santana nuzzles into her, until her forehead is pressed against Brittany’s and all she can see is Santana’s eyes, brown and deep, just for her.  
  
“Okay,” Brittany pulls away just long enough to get her shirt over her head and reach around to unhook her bra, standing up to kick her pants down her legs and pull her socks off quickly, and then she sinks into the bed and Santana’s arms, fitting their bodies together and finding her lips easily, openmouthed and sweet.  
  
Santana kisses her softly; her lips, her neck, her jaw, her shoulder, again and again, breathing out against her skin and sighing happily, holding her close like she never wants to let go.  
  
“I love you so much,” she says, looking up to find her eyes, summer sadness mingling with the happiness in her gaze. She pushes her hand between them and rests it over Brittany’s heart, palm warm and solid, flat against her chest, until Brittany imagines her heart can feel it there too, like Santana is holding it in her hands and feeling it beat.  
  
She thinks how Santana has always held her heart, ever since she can remember.  
  
“I love you too,” Brittany says, lifting her hand to mirror the gesture on Santana’s chest, fingers brushing against the skin reverently.  Santana’s skin is soft under her hand, and she can feel the faint thud of her heart, reassuringly constant against her palm.  
  
Santana murmurs happily and pulls her closer with the arm she still has around her, so that Brittany is half on top of her and half next to her, legs tangled together as she curls into Santana’s chest, their hands still over each other’s hearts.  
  
“Stay there, Britty,” Santana murmurs softly, so quiet Brittany almost doesn’t hear it, and Brittany presses one last soft kiss to her chest before her eyes flutter closed and she drifts off to sleep.  
  
+  
  
Brittany wakes up to her mom’s voice coming through the door, the hand between her and Santana numb from being squashed between them all night.  She thinks the banging she can hear might be her head before she realises it’s her mom knocking, and she squints against the light, too bright even with the shades down, as Santana stirs underneath her.  
  
“Brittany! I want you downstairs in ten minutes. Santana too, please.”  
  
Santana blinks up at her, the arm around her tightening like she isn’t quite sure where she is, and then she squints up at her and says, “I slept in my contacts. Ow.” She blinks again and rubs at her eyes, wincing. “Was that your—oh crap, your mom caught us last night.”  Her eyes go comically wide and Brittany laughs, pinning her in place when she tries to get away.  
  
“Stay away from the window,” Brittany rests her chin on her hands and grins up at her, “Just breathe, baby, you’ll be fine.”  
  
Santana shakes her head and stares at her, mouth opening like she wants to say something only no words come out. She swallows instead and rubs at her eyes again as Brittany flexes her hand, waiting for it wake up so she can stroke the frown away from between Santana’s eyebrows.  
  
“We need to get dressed,” Santana says eventually, once she’s calmed down enough for her breathing to even out. “And you have to pretend like you’ve never seen me naked.”  
  
“That second part sounds kind of hard,” Brittany says, kissing Santana’s jaw before she pulls away. “I’d never forget something like that you know.”  
  
She climbs out of bed and pulls herself up to her full height, stretching her arms above her head and rolling onto the balls of her feet, feeling her joints pop. It takes her a second to remember she’s naked, and when she looks, Santana is staring at her slack jawed, eyes a little bit unfocused.  
  
“San?”  
  
“We’re so fucking screwed,” Santana groans, falling back against the pillows and pulling the covers up over her head. “Completely screwed.”  
  
+  
  
“So what do you have to say for yourselves?” Her mom asks as soon as they appear in the kitchen door and stand in front of her, shifting from side to side nervously. She’d almost had to drag Santana in by her arm, but when she’d realised that meant they’d be touching where Brittany’s mom could see Santana had swatted hands away, holding her head up defiantly and taking a step before she’d followed her through the door.  
  
Brittany tries to ignore the headache hiding in her temples and think of something to say that isn’t, “I’m sorry my girlfriend had me pressed up against a wall,” but Santana beats her to it, breathing hitching in her throat as she starts to speak.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Pierce,” Santana says, looking more contrite than Santana has ever seen her. “It was totally inappropriate, and I know you trust us and we betrayed that trust—“  
  
Her mom holds up her hand and Santana cuts off at once, glancing at Brittany as she pales under her mom’s gaze. “Brittany?” Her mom says, turning to look at her. “Do you have anything to say?”  
  
“We won’t do it again?” Brittany tries, fighting hard to keep from smiling as the lie leaves her lips. She hangs her head as her mom looks at her, waiting. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Her mom sighs and her eyes soften a little, “I expect better from both of you than coming home drunk. I know you’re going to college, and I’m not naïve, but you have to look after yourselves better than that.”  
  
Santana’s head kind of snaps up while her mom is talking, and she glances at Brittany sideways, one eyebrow quirked and a question behind her eyes. Brittany nods a little because she caught it too, before she says, “You’re mad because we were drunk?” slowly and carefully, like her mom might startle.  
  
Her mom just stares at her, and then over at Santana, eyes narrowing when both of them look suddenly relieved.  
  
“You weren’t mad because we were making out and stuff?” Brittany can feel herself blushing but forces herself to meet her mom’s gaze, waiting for her to say something.  
  
“You were having trouble standing up, you are underage, and I could smell the tequila from the top of the stairs,” her mom says, eyebrows rising incredulously. “And you think I was angry that you were kissing your girlfriend?”  
  
“Oh,” Santana says softly beside her, the kind of noise you make when you finally work out the answer to a really hard riddle, but Brittany doesn’t think her mom hears her.  
  
“You’re going to college tomorrow, and you were drunk last night. You were okay but you’re going to be in California and then you won’t be walking down three streets to get home, and you won’t always be together. I need you two to be smarter than that and to take better care of yourselves, okay? You’re both still so young and—“  
  
“Mom,” Brittany says, not sure what she’s going to say but needing to say something, because she hates seeing that look in her mom’s eyes, and it’s only really starting to sink in that they’re actually leaving tomorrow and they won’t be back until Winter break.  
  
“We’ll totally take care of each other,” Santana says once it’s obvious Brittany isn’t going to say anything else. “We always take care of each other, Mrs. Pierce. I’m sorry I didn’t do that last night.” She swallows and takes a step closer, “We’ll do better, I promise.”   
  
Brittany holds her breath, waiting for her mom to say something, watching them both stare at each other, Santana with her jaw set trying to look brave while her mom’s expression turns from love to pride to heartbreak and back almost faster than she can follow.  
  
She wants to say that she can look after herself and that Santana can too, that they look after each other because they want to not because they have to, that she knows they messed up a little but that they’ll be okay, and she watches her mom nod as her eyes soften and she starts to smile.  
  
“I’m sorry,” her mom says, shaking her head. “I know this is supposed to be a happy time for you. I just worry about you—about both of you—so much. You’re still my baby, Brittany. You always will be.”  
  
“It’s okay, mom,” Brittany says, stepping closer to pull her into a hug, feeling her mom’s arms come up to wrap around her at once, just like when she was little. “I think you can have summer sadness too.”  
  
+  
  
Santana’s mom calls while they’re slumped on the sofa eating cereal from the box and watching cartoons, and she’s so loud Santana has to turn the volume down on her phone, rubbing her head and wincing as she listens to her.  Santana doesn’t really say anything, just kind of grunts in agreement down the phone and when she hangs up she grimaces at Brittany and says, “I gotta go home. Abuela’s coming over and my dad somehow managed to take the day off work. I completely forgot and I’m already late.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Brittany says, climbing to her feet and pulling Santana up after her. “The last day should be family day, I think.”  
  
Santana glances at her and doesn’t say anything, following her to the door and picking her purse up from where she left it next to Brittany’s the night before.  It still feels like she’s going to say to something, and Brittany peers at her for a minute, trying to see what’s hiding behind her eyes, but Santana blinks and pushes her glasses further up on her nose, using them as an excuse to squirm away.  
  
“Have a good day, sweetheart,” Brittany says, pulling her into a hug so tight she can feel Santana’s heartbeat against her chest.  
  
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Santana says against her ear, and when she pulls back to smile at her, her expression is kind of surprised like she’s only really hearing the words for the first time even though she’s the one saying them.   
  
“We’re leaving tomorrow, San.” Brittany grins, wide and easy.  She thinks her smile might be infectious because Santana starts to grin too, like they’re sharing a secret. “Can you believe it? We won’t be home for months.”  
  
Santana glances around them like she’s checking if they’re alone, and then she leans in to whisper, “No matter where I am, I’m always at home when I’m with you,” and Brittany feels her breath catch in her throat.   
  
No one ever believes how sweet Santana can be, but it’s the moments like this, when she says the ridiculous things that Brittany has always loved best and kept locked in her heart, the moments that make her fall in love all over again, that Brittany treasures as the special parts of Santana that only she gets to see.  
  
“San,” Brittany murmurs, cupping her face in her hands and kissing her sort of desperately, trying to put everything she doesn’t know how to say into the contact, thumbs pressing into her cheeks as she tries to breathe her in.  
  
They kiss for long moments, and Brittany thinks somewhere in the back of her mind how it might be their last kiss in Lima for months, and that makes her kiss Santana harder, until they’re both gasping for air and leaning into each other, holding on like they never want to let go.


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She feels a little bit like she was waiting for the catch, and now she’s found it.

She wakes up an hour before her alarm is due to go off and it takes her a moment to remember why Brittany isn’t next to her, arm slung around her waist and face buried in her hair. It feels kind of wrong that she isn’t there, and she rolls over and kicks her legs out, like if only she moves enough she’ll find Brittany hiding at the edge of the bed.

She stretches her hands out in both directions and finds nothing but cold sheets, and she sighs and opens her eyes, finally admitting defeat. She reaches for her cell phone automatically, and flicks her thumb against the screen as she rolls over onto her belly, grinning when she sees she already has nine texts from Brittany. 

_are you awake? i can’t sleep xxx_  
(5.23am)  
\---  
 _saaaaaaaan xxx_  
(5.35am)  
\---  
 _ur so rude_  
(5.45am)  
\---  
 _ok not really xxxxxx :)_  
(5.47am)  
\---  
 _lord tubbington is trying to pack himself into my boxes :(_  
(6.01am)  
\---  
 _now ash is too xxx_  
(6.06am)  
\---  
 _some of my boxes broke, can u bring more? xxx_  
(6.08am)  
\---  
 _its ok my mom fixed it xxx_  
(6.19am)  
\---  
 _SAN WAKE UP WE’RE GOING TO CALIFORNIA AND I LOVE U :) :) :) xxxxx_  
(6.24am)  
\---

Santana laughs into her pillow and taps her fingers against the screen quickly, and then grins even harder when the reply comes back almost at once.

 _i love u too u dork xxxxx_  
(6.33am)  
\---  
 _ps we should probs check the trunk for pint sized before we leave_  
(6.33am)  
\---  
 _and tubbs_  
(6.33am)  
\---  
 _:D :D :D hi sleepyhead xxx_  
(6.34am)  
\---

+

She showers on autopilot, almost letting the too hot water burn her skin because she’s just staring at the tiles and trying to process the fact that this is the last shower she’ll take in Lima until December at least. She didn’t know she could miss something so commonplace as a shower, and by the time she’s stepped out of it her skin is red and tender all over, so that the towel feels like it’s scratching her skin, like she’s shedding something she doesn’t need anymore. 

She feels like she’s been reborn, or whatever cliché it is people use at times like these.

She eats the bowl of cereal her mom hands her without tasting it, and when she realises it’s a bowl of Cheerios she laughs so hard she nearly drops the bowl. Her laughter sounds wrong somehow, like there’s some weird edge in it she’s never heard before, just a little bit hysterical and higher pitched than usual, and her mom stares at her for a long moment before asking if she’s okay.

Her dad insists on carrying all her boxes downstairs for her, and she packs them into her car carefully, making sure there’s still room for Brittany’s things. He reaches out to touch her head more than once, the same way he had when she was a kid, palm warm and comforting against her scalp, and she wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.

Nothing feels real, and she sees everything like it’s happening to someone else instead of her, hovering over it all just trying to remember how it looks. 

Her mom brushes her fingers against her arm every time they walk past each other and she barely feels it. It’s like her arm doesn’t belong to her, like the synapses in her brain and nerves aren’t firing properly and everything’s on a delay. 

It’s not until she slams the trunk shut that she starts to feel the excitement running through her, at the way her fingertips tingle and itch every time she touches something and remembers it might be the last time she does. 

She walks up the stairs to her room slowly, telling her parents she just needs to check she didn’t forget anything, fingers trailing up the banister reverently with each step she takes. She stands in the doorway, mostly empty now but for the odd things she’s leaving behind; a couple of books sitting forlornly on her shelves, the Stanford acceptance letter still pinned to her noticeboard. 

She lets herself just breathe for a minute, eyes lingering on the way the sunlight filters through the window onto the bed, and suddenly all she can see is blonde hair and smiling blue eyes, a whispered gasp in her ear, the feel of lips against hers, warm and familiar.

She hears a door slam downstairs and comes back to herself, and it takes her a second to realise she’s hugging herself, fingers curled into her shirt tightly, and then she drops her arms to her sides self consciously even though there’s no-one there to see her. 

She doesn’t really know why she’s here because she checked she had everything the night before, checking off the list she’s had on her desk for more than a month and stacking the maps she’d printed by her car keys in the bowl downstairs.

It isn’t possible for her to be more ready for this moment, and yet she still feels completely unprepared, the way she did when Brittany asked her to dance at prom, or when they’d been about to go on stage at Nationals. She feels like she’s missing something, only she doesn’t know what it is.

She doesn’t know what makes her do it, but she crosses the room to her desk and reaches into the back of the bottom drawer and feels around, just in case there’s something stuck at the back, and her fingers find what feels like a photograph wedged into some small gap in the wood. She tugs, curiosity getting the better of her, and after a moment it comes loose and she pulls it out carefully, fingers curled around the paper.

She realises what it is a second before she smoothes it open, and sure enough there’s she and Brittany scrunched together in one sleeping bag on a camping trip they’d taken with Brittany’s parents when they were eight years old, grinning and laughing at Brittany’s dad as he’d taken the photo. They both look tiny, all elbows and angles, little Brittany pressed into little Santana’s back with her arms wrapped around her neck and her chin resting on Santana’s shoulder like she never wants to let go. 

Even then they kind of looked like two halves of the same whole, perfect and innocent, ready to spend their whole lives together.

“Are you ready to go?” Her mom’s voice behind her startles her and she turns quickly, hand closing around the picture tightly. “Did you find something else you wanted to take?”

Santana shakes her head mutely and glances down at the picture in her hand and then across to her noticeboard where there’s still one picture of her and Brittany from a month before, sharing a sun lounger by Quinn’s pool. “I just need to—“ Santana trails off and reaches to pluck a pin from the cork, trying to flatten the picture again from where it was caught in the drawer, then pushes the pin back in delicately, trapping the photograph next to its newer twin.

She smiles at them there, eight years old and eighteen, smiling and together, and nods her head.

“Okay,” she says, “Let’s go.”

+

She says goodbye to her parents on the porch, her mom wrapping her in a tearful hug while her dad puts a hand on her back and demands that she recite the route they’re taking from memory in this nervous voice she’s never heard him use before. Her mom’s starting to sob into her hair, and it actually helps a little that she has to pry her off and deposit her in her dad’s arms just so she can get in the car because it means she can think about something else other than the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes and how small her mom looks suddenly, leaning against her dad for support.

“You better call every time you cross state lines!” Her dad says, mouth tight as he smiles, wrapping an arm around her mother’s shoulders to pull her close.

“I’ll call you from Indiana when we stop for lunch,” Santana says, and the words feel like magic on her tongue.

“And every night,” her mom says, words muffled from the way her head is pressed into Santana’s dad’s chest. “And I want to talk to Brittany too.”

Santana turns the key in the ignition and feels the car rumble into life, and then she’s looking at her house, and looking at her parents, and saying “I love you” and “I’ll be fine” while her mom cries and her dad blinks, and then she pulls out of the drive and watches it all disappear.

+

All the way to Brittany’s house she feels like she’s blinking and missing things, like one second she’s pulling out of her street, the next she’s turning on to Brittany’s block and then she’s in the driveway without any real memory of having got there. She just sort of sits there, knuckles white where they grip the wheel, and she takes a second to rub her hands over her face before she gets out of the car, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until everything’s blurry and she has to wait for it to snap back into focus.

She walks up the driveway slowly, breathing hard like her lungs can’t take in enough oxygen. It’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but she feels like this is the last time she’ll ever be here even though she knows that it isn’t. They’ll be home for winter break, and it’s not like Brittany’s house won’t be here when they get back, but it all feels so final somehow, in a way she can’t really put her finger on so she settles instead for just trying to take it all in. 

Her eyes flick from Brittany’s house to the huge old tree in the yard, that she’d actually climbed up a couple of times sophomore year to get to Brittany’s window and into her bed, and then to Brittany’s mom’s car sitting in front of the garage, the same one that used to ferry them around before they got their licences, sitting pinky-linked in the back seat. 

She comes to a stop and takes a breath, feeling the air catch in her lungs. 

There are some things she can’t take with her, no matter how much she wants to.

She’s not sure how long she stands there, but when she moves again she finds boxes on the porch and the front door open, and she pauses awkwardly, wondering if she should knock or just go in. The decision’s taken away from her by the sight of Ashley sitting on the bottom step of the staircase with a scowl on her face, kicking her feet against the floor.

“What’s wrong, Pint-sized?” The words are out and she’s moving before she thinks about it, coming to a stop in front of her and moving to crouch down so they’re at the same height. “Where is everyone?”

“Upstairs packing,” Ashley says sullenly, kicking a little harder at the floor and narrowly avoiding Santana. “And nothing’s wrong.”

“Really?” Santana reaches out a hand to her slowly, not really sure what makes her do it but just because it’s the only thing she can think to do. “Cuz it looks like something’s wrong.”

Ashley’s eyes finally lift up from the floor long enough to glare at her—Santana’s pretty sure she stole that expression from her, as well as the scowl—and pushes her hand away. “Go away,” she says, looking back down at the floor, “I don’t like you.”

“What did I do?” Santana asks, wounded.

Ashley mumbles something that Santana doesn’t catch, and when she reaches for her again Ashley shakes her head and pushes her away, turning to run up the stairs and nearly colliding with Brittany coming the other way with a box in her arms.

“Ash, stop being a brat!” Brittany shouts after her, coming to a stop half up the stairs and turning to watch her go so that Santana isn’t even sure if she’s seen her there. She climbs the stairs quickly and quietly as she can, until she’s on the step just below Brittany’s and smiling up at her, reaching to take the box from her hands. 

Brittany starts a little but recovers quickly, mouth stretching into a smile at the sight of her there, her eyes going soft the way they only really do when Santana does something Brittany thinks is cute, which Santana figures is carrying the box but, whatever, it looked heavy, so.

“Hey,” Brittany says softly.

“Hi,” Santana grins back, and they stand there just grinning at each other like they’re sharing a secret, like there’s nothing and no one else in the world, until Mrs. Pierce appears at the top stairs and asks them what they’re doing.

+

It doesn’t take them long to pack the car up. Mr. Pierce helps them shift things around so there’s plenty of room, and Santana’s kind of amazed at how much they can fit in her trunk. She slams it shut with Brittany next to her and glances sideways to find her staring at it with the same slightly confused expression that she’s been wearing all morning, like nothing makes sense no matter how long she looks at it and she doesn’t know what to do.

“Are you okay?” Santana whispers, watching as Brittany’s eyes find her own and she nods softly.

“I think someone put the confundus charm on me,” Brittany says softly, looking a little bit dazed and reaching over to take Santana’s hand and tangle their fingers together. 

Santana’s a little embarrassed at the way she grabs onto Brittany’s hand tightly, like it’s the only thing stopping her from floating away, and she forces herself to relax her grip as she nods, “Yeah. Yeah, I think they got me too.”

Brittany turns her whole body to get a better look at her, leaning into her a little to nudge her with her shoulder. “You’re my awesome beautiful, super smart, crazy hot girlfriend, right?”

Santana smiles a little in spite of herself. “I’m your girlfriend,” she says carefully, shaking her head a little at the rest.

“And we’re going to California?” Brittany says, pulling her face into a mock frown. “I got that right?”

“I’m your girlfriend and we’re going to California,” Santana says, and suddenly it’s the easiest thing in the world. She watches the fake confusion fall from Brittany’s face and feels some of the anxiousness that’s been tugging at the very edges of her all morning drift away with it.

“Then I think the charm is already wearing off,” Brittany nudges her with her shoulder again and grins, tugging on her hand a little. “As long as we remember who we are and where we’re going? We’ll be okay.”

“I am so in love with you,” Santana murmurs because it’s never been more true, leaning in to press a kiss to her jaw quickly before Brittany’s parents notice.

“Just don’t forget it,” Brittany says with a soft eyed smile, and Santana nods, sure she’s making the easiest promise in the world.

+

Brittany pulls Santana with her when she goes to her parents, and Santana almost doesn’t want to go with her, fairly sure that Brittany should get to say goodbye to her parents alone the same way she did, but Brittany won’t let go so she has no choice but to follow her back towards the porch, watching the way Brittany’s parents wear the same sad-proud expression hers did and how Mrs. Pierce is starting to sniff loudly, tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes.

Ashley still hasn’t come back, and Santana watches Brittany smile at her dad and hug her mom tightly, pulling back to murmur variations of the things her parents had said to her, before Mrs. Pierce chokes out a sob and pulls Santana into a hug before she knows what’s happening.

“Mom,” Brittany says with a little bit of a laugh when Santana gasps for air, “She can’t breathe.”

Mrs. Pierce’s arms are tight around her, and Santana’s arms come up to wrap around her shyly, still a little bit awkward, just like every other time Brittany’s mom has hugged her this summer. 

“Promise me you’ll look after her,” Mrs. Pierce whispers into her ear so no-one else can hear, and Santana feels her heart squeeze painfully at the way Brittany’s mom’s breath hitches on the words. 

“Promise me you’ll look after each other,” Mrs. Pierce whispers again, just before she pulls away to find Santana’s eyes. 

Part of her wants to say how Mrs. Pierce doesn’t even have to ask, that she doesn’t have to promise anything, because looking after Brittany is just sort of her default mode of being, and Brittany always, always looks after her even when Santana doesn’t even know there’s anything wrong, but the way Mrs. Pierce asked, like she was trusting Santana with the most precious thing in the world, makes her nod her head and wipe furiously at her eyes against the tears threatening to fall.

“I promise,” Santana whispers softly, while Brittany looks backwards and forwards between them curiously, and Mrs. Pierce shuts her eyes for a moment and nods, squeezing Santana’s shoulder with the hand she still has there before she lets go.

Santana takes a step back, swallowing against the lump in her throat while Brittany hugs her dad. Mr. Pierce looks at Santana for a moment after he lets go of Brittany, and Santana fights the urge to fidget and toe the ground with her shoe, forcing herself to stand there and meet his eyes steadily, unsure if she should say anything or not. The moment stretches, and then he holds out his hand to shake Santana’s without saying anything, an unreadable expression on his face as Santana takes his hand slowly.

She isn’t sure why but she feels like she’s passed some kind of test, and she stands a little taller as they shake hands, his large hand covering her smaller one, calloused and warm around her fingers.

“Drive safely, Santana,” he says as he lets go, eyes fixed on her face carefully, and Santana nods and meets his eyes.

“Yes sir,” she says seriously, voice coming out a little higher than she intended. His stern look softens into a smile and Santana feels herself smile back without even realising she’s doing it.

“Dad…” Brittany laughs a little and shakes her head, one hand snaking out to reach for Santana’s. “Don’t be weird.”

Santana ducks her head and tries to wipe the smile off her face, but she thinks Brittany’s already seen it because she’s giving her that look that makes Santana blush and look away, and she wonders if there’ll ever be a day when Brittany stops looking at her like that, pure love shining in her eyes.

“Are you leaving now?” a tiny voice says suddenly, and when Santana’s looks, she sees Ashley peering around the doorframe, half sheepish, and half angry.

Brittany nods at her and Ashley kicks her foot against the frame of the door, a little harder than strictly necessary. She swallows, and when she speaks the words come out a little stilted, like she’s trying hard to keep her voice steady. “Couldn’t you—“ she scowls again but Santana can see the tears in her eyes now, “Couldn’t you just stay instead?”

“Oh honey,” Mrs. Pierce says, but before anyone has time to move Ashley is running straight for Brittany and Santana, dodging round Brittany’s arms and slamming into Santana’s legs, wrapping her arms around Santana’s waist and pressing her face into her stomach. 

Santana reels a little where she stands, blinking down at Ashley’s mop of blonde hair helplessly, like she doesn’t really see it. Brittany’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and Santana’s fairly sure she’s wearing an identical expression, and she slides her arms around Ashley’s shoulders loosely and pats her back carefully, like she might break.

She can feel rather than see the way she’s crying against her, face buried in her jacket, and she tightens her grip around her and tries to rub comforting circles into her back. “Hey, come on. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Sister stealer,” Ashley mumbles, glaring up at her through tear-filled eyes. “I don’t like you.”

“Then why are you hugging me?” Santana asks, eyebrows shooting up.

“Shut up,” Ashley says after a moment, like it’s some huge insult, and Santana has to work hard to hide the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Brittany’s parents are exchanging amused glances, and Brittany’s face stretches into a smile as she watches the two of them, Ashley still tucked against Santana’s front.

“I don’t like you either, Pint-sized,” Santana tells her seriously, trying to make her eyes innocent but failing, because she’s being kind of adorable the way Brittany used to be when they were little, and Santana was never much good at not losing whatever serious expression she was trying to maintain whenever that happened.

Ashley squints up at her and hiccups a little, eyes still narrowed, “Good.”

“Good,” Santana echoes, and pulls her closer.

+

It feels like no time passes until they’re leaving; one minute Brittany is trying to prise Ashley off of Santana and swinging her around in a hug, then she’s hugging her parents again while they promise to drive safe and call every chance they get, and the next they’re buckled into their seats as Santana turns the key in the ignition and waits for it to catch. 

She exhales and twists her hands round the wheel, squeezing tightly before looking over at Brittany, “Should we—should we go?” She swallows and peers out the window at Brittany’s mom and dad, Ashley sandwiched between them with the scowl back on her face, rubbing furiously at her eyes to try and wipe the tears away.

Brittany reaches across to trace her cheekbone with her fingers and it pulls Santana back to them, back to the car, and the way her GPS is telling her follow the road until she has to turn left and then she swallows again against the sudden scratchiness in her throat.

“Are you ready, Britty?”

“Let’s go, baby,” Brittany whispers, leaning forward to press their lips together softly, quick and warm for just a second. “Let’s go have an adventure.”

“Okay,” she takes another breath as her foot hits the gas.

+

Santana pulls out of Brittany’s driveway slowly, watching Brittany twist round in her seat and lean out of the window to wave, until they have to turn at the end of the street and her house disappears from view. She kind of feels like her heart is trying to jump out of her throat, especially when Brittany’s hand slides over the console to rest on her knee and squeeze, like it’s the only place it belongs. Santana glances at her GPS nervously, even though she knows the route out of Lima by heart, and she glances sideways at Brittany when they have to stop at a red light and finds her watching her, eyes light blue and shining.

Her chest tightens the further they get from home, and they’re not even out of the city limits before her hands start shaking, just a little, where they grip the wheel. She hopes Brittany won’t notice, and then realises how ridiculous that thought is, because Brittany notices everything, including things she doesn’t even notice herself, and sure enough Brittany’s hand on her knee squeezes a little, and then she murmurs, “What’s wrong?”

“We’re leaving,” Santana whispers softly, as the buildings start to thin out and turn into fields, stretching on and on. “Britt, we’re _leaving_.”

Brittany laughs, really laughs, and Santana risks a glance at her out of the corner of her eye. “I know, baby. I know.”

Brittany grins at her until Santana starts to grin back, and then she’s flooring the gas pedal as they leave Lima behind, hurtling towards route 30 as Brittany turns the volume up on the stereo, until it’s so loud they can’t hear the sound of the engine, until they can’t even hear themselves think, until Brittany grabs her hand and they’re laughing and singing and leaving everything familiar behind.

+

She’s been out of state before, on vacations with her parents and for Nationals with Cheerios and glee, and she had Brittany with her for some of those, although mostly it was before they were really together so sometimes she thinks it shouldn’t count. The point is, this shouldn’t feel so special, and it shouldn’t make her shiver a little when Brittany leans over and says, “I think we’re in Indiana now,” with this little bit of wonder in her voice. 

It does though, and she doesn’t know if it’s because they’re alone without parents or teachers or their friends for really the first time in their lives, or if it’s because Brittany keeps looking over at her with this huge smile on her face that never seems to fade, singing along to the random selection of songs that Santana’s ipod is playing when she knows the words and bopping her head along to the ones she doesn’t. 

She doesn’t want to speak in case she breaks the spell, and she loses track of how long they stay like that, Brittany holding onto her hand until Santana needs to use her turn signals or mess with some control on her dash, and then tangling their fingers together again as soon as she’s done. 

+

They’ve just skirted the edges of Fort Wayne when Brittany lets go of her hand to shift in her seat and reach for her bag on the backseat, and Santana side eyes her a little and slows down, watching the way the seatbelt isn’t quite around Brittany the way it’s supposed to be.

“Britt, what are you doing?”

Brittany mumbles something Santana doesn’t catch, and when she turns back around she has her camera in her hands, fingers twisting the cap off delicately as she brings it up to eye level and peers through the viewfinder. “I told Quinn I’d document the trip,” she says as she squints through the camera at the fields outside the window as though she’s sizing them up.

“I hope Quinn likes fields,” Santana mutters, checking her mirrors as she switches lanes.

She hears Brittany laugh, “There are other things to take pictures of.” 

“Like wh—” she starts to say, and then Brittany’s grinning at her as the flash goes off and all she can see is stars.

“Jesus,” Santana complains, blinking her eyes in turns so that she always has one on the road. “Are you trying to kill us?”

Brittany ignores her and turns the dial so that she can see the photo on the screen, and then she bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I think I got your good side,” she says flatly, grinning even wider when Santana looks offended.

“All my sides are good sides.”

“Um,” Brittany says through her laughter, and then ducks when Santana’s hand reaches out to swat at her.

“Keep your hands on the wheel,” Brittany admonishes her in her softest voice, and Santana rolls her eyes a little as she does what she’s told.

“Good,” Brittany says, lifting the camera to her eye again. “Now let me get the good sides.”

Santana wears her Brittany-smile and waits for the shutter to click.

+

They stop for gas in Merriville, mostly because they’re hungry and Santana figures she might as well kill two birds with one stone, and she fills the tank while Brittany goes to see what candy the gas station offers, even though there’s a hot dog place just next door that seems like a better idea.

She leans against the car when she’s done and waits for Brittany to come back, trying to catch sight of her and see what’s taking so long, but she can’t see her at all, and she pushes the momentary surge of panic away, because it’s not like she could be anywhere else.

She remembers the promise she made to Brittany’s mom, and bites her lip, just a little.

It’s still easy to remember the way she used to feel the year before, and even though she hasn’t felt like that for a long time, she can feel it all come back, as easy as slipping into an old coat.

She feels a little bit like she was waiting for the catch, and now she’s found it. 

_They’re going to California together._

She takes a step closer to the store anxiously and twists her hands together, searching for a glimpse of blonde hair.

Some part of her mind wonders if she’d feel the same way if they were still back in Lima, and she pushes the thought away because she’d know where to look for Brittany in Lima; she’d be at the dance studio or the Lima Bean or in Quinn’s backyard next to the pool, grinning at her in a bikini.

She doesn’t know where to look when she has the whole world to search.

She shakes her head to try and clear it, aware she’s being ridiculous and that Brittany is on the other side of the wall, buying Dots or whatever candy has caught her eye, and she leans back against her car, twirling her keys round her finger as she waits, forcing herself to just breathe and wait.

It feels like forever until the gas station door swings open, and then Brittany is in front of her, smiling and perfect in a way Santana will never really get over, clutching two oversized slushies in her hands and waving them in front of her. “I got red and blue,” she says, as though Santana hadn’t just been having a minor panic attack at her extended absence. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d want.”

“Blue,” Santana says, embarrassed at the way her voice comes out, just a little bit cracked. She coughs and reaches for it, brushing her fingers against Brittany’s a little longer than she has to, just to make sure she’s really there. 

Brittany peers at her as she hands it over but Santana avoids her eyes, and she Brittany looks away too, reaching behind her to open the door for her. “Wanna go get a hot dog?” she asks quietly, eyes serious when Santana finally meets them, and Santana nods and climbs into her seat.

+

They get a dog each and split some fries, and even years of Cheerios conditioning isn’t enough to make her feel guilty about that. They eat in the car so they can drink their slushies too, and Santana catches Brittany sneaking glances at her like she might catch her feelings on her face more readily while she’s distracted by her food. 

Santana picks at the fries delicately and tries to put a smile on her face, which is made harder by the fact that her panic faded while they were buying their food and now she’s mostly embarrassed by the way she acted. If she freaked out when Brittany was ten feet away in a gas station how will she act when she’s in Berkeley?

She glances sideways and finds Brittany watching her again, and she feels the first genuine smile tugging at her lips at the sight of Brittany attacking her hot dog, ketchup and mustard smeared at the corner of her mouth.

“Baby, you have a little something,” Santana wipes at her own mouth to show her, and Brittany grins, her eyes flashing.

“Here?” She asks, sticking her finger in the ketchup before poking at the opposite side of her mouth, so she looks like she has a tomato coloured grin.

“Not quite,” Santana says, pointing to her own mouth again.

“Oh,” Brittany says, sticking her finger in the sauce again. “You mean here.” She rubs at her lips with her finger until Santana laughs and drops the fries she’s holding. “Did I get it?”

“Not even close,” Santana says shaking her head at how ridiculous she is. She reaches for a napkin, “Want me to?”

Brittany nods and tilts her chin up, the better for Santana to see, and Santana laughs at the look on her face. “Okay,” she says, and then she drops the napkin and leans forward to kiss the mess from her lips, sticky and sweet as Brittany hums into her mouth in surprise. She sucks it away slowly, tip of her tongue flicking out against Brittany’s lips, and feels Brittany lean into her, seeking more contact.

“Did you get it all?” Brittany asks when they break apart, licking her lips as though she’s checking, eyes never leaving Santana’s.

“You’re good,” Santana grins and picks up another fry.

“Oh,” Brittany says, glancing down at the half eaten hot dog in her lap before looking up at Santana again. Quick as a flash, her finger reaches down to scoop up more of the goopy ketchup-mustard mixture, and then she’s rubbing it on her bottom lip and grinning wickedly. “How about now?”

Santana pretends to sigh as she leans in but it’s undone by the smile on her face, her fingers finding the hinge of Brittany’s jaw as she tilts her head up again. “You missed a bit,” she says against her lips, and tries her best to kiss it all away.

+

They talk about inconsequential things while they drive, both still a little bit in awe of what they’re doing and where they’re going. Brittany chews at the straw in her slushie and holds on to Santana’s hand whenever she can, rubbing her thumb into the space between the knuckles, just because.

They put Santana’s ipod on shuffle and make fun of her music selection, that ranges from Billie Holliday to Amy Winehouse, from Lady Gaga to Nicki Minaj, from Oh Land to Grimes and back again. After a while, Brittany asks her why every song on her ipod is being sung by a woman with a bit of a smirk, and Santana laughs when Brittany starts swiping through the albums to try and find one that isn’t.

“Shut up,” Santana says, “Or I’ll put _Closer to Fine_ on.”

Brittany just looks at her steadily, eyes soft in the way that means she’s never loved her so much, and then she says, “How did you ever convince people you were straight?” and Santana has to clutch the wheel to keep from swerving as she bursts out laughing and gasps for air.

+

They get to Davenport during rush hour, and their route takes them through the whole city to get to the motel Santana picked out for them, so they end up sitting in traffic and inching forward slowly, Brittany’s feet starting to get twitchy the way they do whenever she’s forced to sit still for so long.

“We have to stay in this motel?” Brittany asks, as she watches another motel go past the window and stares after it a little wistfully.

“It’s on my list,” Santana says, like that should be enough, and Brittany nods, accepting her answer. It’s not like she picked the place arbitrarily; it’s close to food and a gas station and close to i-80 so they can leave easily in the morning, but right now, staring at tail lights and feeling like they’ve gone nowhere in the last half hour, that seems like a pretty poor trade.

She huffs out a lungful of air and watches Brittany roll the window down and stick her head out as she glances at her GPS again to see how much longer they have left.

“Ten minutes, my ass,” she mutters as she inches forward again and then Brittany leans back in her seat and giggles, covering her hand with her own.

+

They have to drive past what feels like all the restaurants in Iowa before they get to the motel, and it takes all of Santana’s self control not to pull over and grab a burger to wait out the traffic. 

There’s a tiny part of her mind that mutters something about hot dogs and burgers not being the kinds of things a grown up person should eat all the time but she pushes it away, because fuck it, what’s the point of college if you can’t eat shitty food all day.

The motel parking lot is almost empty, and Santana pulls into a spot close to the building and reaches for her overnight bag on the back seat, waiting for Brittany to do the same. Brittany tries to take her hand as they head to the desk, and Santana hates herself a little bit when she links her arm instead with an apologetic glance sideways.

She watches Brittany hide her surprise and then pull her arm closer, until their hips are bumping with every step they take and they’re both smiling conspiratorially. When they get to the door, Santana holds it open for Brittany and watches Brittany’s eyes soften as she steps past her, waiting for her on the other side.

The clerk sees them coming and smiles politely, asking if they have a reservation and Santana shakes her head and asks for a room, glancing sideways at Brittany when she says, “A Queen is fine,” a little nervously, like she’s half expecting him to refuse her. 

She kind of feels like she’s trying to get away with something she can’t really put into words, and waits for the clerk to call her on it. He doesn’t though, just nods and taps away at the computer, and Brittany nudges her with her hip and shoots her a shy smile as she fiddles with the strap on the bag slung across her shoulders. Santana charges the room to her credit card and ignores Brittany’s whispered, “I’ll get dinner,” as they take the key and go in the direction the clerk tells them, back outside and up the stairs to room 204. 

Brittany leans into her back while she fiddles with the key and tries to get the door open, pressing kisses to her neck as she wraps an arm around her stomach in a way that’s nothing but distracting, and when she finally gets the door open they practically fall through it, Santana stumbling forward until Brittany pulls her back up with the arm still around her waist.

“Careful,” Brittany whispers into her ear, and Santana shivers a little at the feel of it, hot and breathy just for her. She leans back into her, letting her hands come up to tangle into Brittany’s hair as Brittany walks them forwards so she can shut the door.

“So what do we do now?” Brittany asks, kissing the curve of Santana’s shoulder, and sliding her other arm around her waist.

Santana spins in the circle of her arms and pulls the bag over her head and drops it beside them, shrugging her own off her shoulder as she does so. Brittany raises her eyebrows as Santana reaches for her hand and pulls her towards the bed, laughing a little at the look on her face. “Not that,” she says softly, flopping down onto her back and pulling Brittany down next to her, rolling her eyes at Brittany’s fake pout. Brittany snuggles into her side and rests her chin on her hands on Santana’s chest, watching her expectantly. 

“Just look where we are,” Santana says, playing with the ends of Brittany’s hair with one hand as she waves the other around like she’s showing off some kind of prize.

“In a crappy motel in Iowa?” Brittany asks, wrinkling her nose a little.

Santana rolls onto her side and props herself up on an elbow, dislodging Brittany. “No, I mean just— We’re in Iowa. And earlier we were in Illinois, and Indiana, and before that we were in Ohio.” 

“And we still have a bunch of states to go...” Brittany trails off uncertainly, and Santana can tell she still hasn’t quite got it, that she can’t quite feel the excitement and the fear in the air, mixing together so she can’t tell one from the other, ever since they left Brittany’s driveway.

“We’re going to California,” Santana tries again, only that doesn’t really help, and Brittany laughs a little as she reaches over to tuck a strand of Santana’s hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, I know. Did you forget? Did the confundus charm come back? Should I check for dark wizards under the bed?” She makes a show of looking around the room and Santana laughs and wraps a hand around her back to pull her closer, until they’re pressed up against each other with no space between them, her face buried in Brittany’s hair as Brittany’s lips graze her neck, so that she can feel every breath she takes, warm as she breathes out and then cool when she breathes in against her neck.

“You’re gonna have to stop being surprised every time we go somewhere new,” Brittany whispers against her skin, but Santana can hear the warmth and affection in it, and when she pulls back a little to look at her, Brittany just smiles fondly and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“But I’m going somewhere new with you,” Santana says after a moment, like that should explain it all, and watches as Brittany’s eyes go impossibly deep.

“ _Santana_ ,” she murmurs softly, and it sounds like a prayer, fingers brushing against her jaw softly as her eyes search her face for something Santana doesn’t know, finally settling on hers as Brittany shakes her head gently, like she doesn’t know what to do with her.

Santana tries to look away, but Brittany pushes her hand between them and hooks her fingers round her jaw to bring her back, and then she laughs this incredulous sort of laugh and leans forward to kiss her, using her hand to keep her steady.

Santana loses herself to the feel of Brittany’s lips and the warmth of her all down the front of her, lets Brittany suck her bottom lip between both of hers and brush her tongue into her mouth as her fingers stroke steadily against her cheek. She tangles her hands into Brittany’s hair and presses closer, Brittany’s hand warm and solid in the small of her back as it inches under her clothes, skin against skin. 

She keeps it there, palm flat against her spine, holding her close as the kiss deepens and slows, Brittany’s lips meeting hers harder and longer, like she’s trying to put some emotion into it that Santana doesn’t understand because the other thing she ever feels when Brittany kisses her is loved, and that doesn’t grow or lessen depending on the kiss. She wants to tell her that but Brittany’s lips stop her words, and a moment later they’re gone, the thought forgotten along with everything else in her head.

It feels sort of magical, like they’re in their own special world and there’s nothing and no-one else, which is silly because they’re only in a cheap hotel room in Iowa, lying on a lumpy bed with scratchy sheets, but it feels like it’s theirs in a way she can’t really explain. 

Brittany kisses her softly, lips barely grazing hers, tiny little kisses that Santana loves because they’re so uniquely Brittany, light and quick and then gone only to return a second later. She smiles into the kisses the same way Brittany does, laughing a little as Brittany starts to hum every time she presses their mouths together.

“Britt,” she murmurs between kisses, trying to ignore the way her stomach flips over when Brittany catches that place behind her ear with her fingertip, how she feels warmth pool low in her belly. “Britt, we should go eat.”

Brittany only pulls back far enough to bump their foreheads together and when Santana opens her eyes she’s so close that all she can see is clear blue. “You’re hungry?” she asks, and Santana hears the breathlessness in her voice and feels another pang run through her. 

She presses a kiss to Brittany’s jaw and glances up at her through her lashes, “If we go out now,” she says shyly, watching Brittany’s eyes darken at the sound of her voice, low in her throat. “We have the whole rest of the night to—to...”

Brittany cuts her off with one last kiss before she rolls away from her and climbs off the bed, before leaning back in, one knee pressed into the mattress to offer Santana her hand and pull her to her feet.

+

They drive back the way they came, pointing out all the restaurants they passed on the way until one of them catches their eye and they end up at a Mexican place not far from where they’re staying. They get tacos and eat them slowly, sitting opposite each other in a booth and nudging their feet together under the table, exchanging shy glances over their food and laughing at nothing at all.

She leans across the table to steal some of Brittany’s food while she’s sipping her drink, and Brittany pretends to get all offended and knock her hand away, only Santana grabs it at the last second and tangles their fingers together, watching Brittany’s eyes get soft as she smiles shyly and pushes her plate towards her across the table, offering her another bite.

She thinks their waitress thinks they’re a little bit crazy, because she keeps shooting them these concerned looks whenever they bust up laughing, and after a while she starts skirting their table altogether until she has to come and take their plates away and ask if they want anything else.

Brittany tries to meet her eyes with her easy open smile but the woman avoids her gaze, stacking their dishes and wrapping her fingers around them carefully, and it’s only when she glances down at their still joined hands that Santana realises what her problem is, and then she slides her fingers out of Brittany’s and folds her hands in her lap, suddenly very interested in staring at the table as Brittany asks for the check. 

Brittany tries to take her hand again while when they go to pay, but Santana wraps her arms around her middle instead and ignores the way Brittany’s face falls into a little bit of a frown. They pay in silence—true to her word back at the motel, Brittany hands over the cash before Santana has a chance to reach for her credit card—and it’s not until they’re outside that Brittany says anything.

“Are you okay?” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as they cross the parking lot, and Santana nods, just a little too quickly.

“Yeah,” she says softly, unlocking the car and opening the door, but Brittany tugs on her hand and spins her before she can climb inside, so that she’s leaning back against the seat with Brittany pressed up against her, feet either side of hers, her hands finding her hips easily.

“Hey,” Brittany says, leaning down a little to find her eyes, knocking her nose against hers and smiling until Santana does too. “That’s better,” she says softly, and leans in to press one chaste kiss to her lips. “Screw her,” she whispers when she pulls back, and waits for Santana to nod and scramble inside before she shuts the door.

+

She lets Brittany pull her from the car and up the stairs to their room when they get back to the motel, and it’s not until they’re cuddled up on the bed again, Brittany on her back while Santana snuggles into her side with her head on her chest, that she remembers she hasn’t called her parents yet even though she said she’d call them from Indiana and again when they got to Iowa. 

She curses and pulls away from Brittany slowly, like she doesn’t want to, catching the little whine Brittany makes in the back of her throat as she watches her go.

“I forgot to call my mom,” Santana says, bending down on one knee to rummage through her bag. “She’s gonna kill me.”

She hadn’t bothered to take her cellphone to dinner, and when she pulls it out she has four missed calls from her parents, texts from Sam and Quinn, as well as two voicemails from her mom, one gently scolding, the other panicked and scared, begging Santana to call her as soon as she gets the message.

She straightens up and sits on the edge of the bed, back taut like a drawn bow string, staring at her screen like it’s some dangerous animal about to attack. After a second the weight on the bed shifts and then Brittany slides into place behind her, her legs either side of Santana’s hips, one arm around her waist as she rests her head on her shoulder and looks down at her phone, reading the messages over her shoulder.

She feels warm against her, and Santana feels herself relax into her just a little, the tension leaving her like Brittany is drawing poison from a wound.

She dials her home number quickly, like she’s ripping off a band-aid, wincing a little in anticipation when her mom answers on the second ring, almost as though she’d been waiting by the phone. She feels a twinge of guilt low in her stomach. 

“Mom, it’s me,” she says, leaning back into Brittany and waiting for the shouting to start.

+

Once she’s calmed down, her mom makes her tell her about everywhere they’ve driven through, but there’s only so many words she knows to describe the way the fields they see out of the window all along the route look, and after she says “Green,” for the fourth time she can practically hear her mom rolling her eyes through the phone. 

“You could show a little more excitement, Santana, even if everything does mostly look the same.”

“You wanted me to be alive,” Santana grouses, “Not have a sudden love of farmland,” and then her mom laughs down the phone for so long it turns into a sort of muffled sob, and Santana hears her breath catch.

“I miss you, mija,” she says and Santana nods, bumping against Brittany at her back.

“I miss you too, mom,” and she’s surprised when she realises just how much she means it.

+

She replies to Quinn’s text with Brittany still pressed into her back, content to watch her fingers tap against the screen and directing her to add an extra word here and there when she wants to say something too. She laughs when she opens Sam’s message to find a picture of the batsignal shining in the sky, though Brittany’s face scrunches up on confusion. 

_Im in Iowa, ull have to handle this one urself bruce_.  
(9.21pm)  
\---

She laughs again when his reply comes back almost at once, feeling a pang in her chest. 

_b safe kate_.  
(9.23pm)  
\---

“Who’s Kate?” Brittany asks, and Santana shakes her head as she slides her phone onto the table next to the bed, feeling Brittany’s arms tighten around her waist as she pulls her back against her.

“Batwoman,” Santana says hesitantly, because sometimes your girlfriend just doesn’t need to know how one boy managed to turn you into the biggest dork alive, and she watches Brittany try to hide a giggle, biting her lips into the corners of her mouth to keep from smiling.

“Okay,” she says, trying and failing to look completely serious, and Santana’s eyes narrow, daring her to say something else.

“You’re Batwoman. And Sam’s who, Batman?” She manages to hold her expression for another second before she bursts out laughing, and then Santana pulls away, leaving her to hunch forward over her stomach as she giggles. It takes her a minute to catch the offended look on Santana’s face and then she makes more of an effort to straighten up though it mostly fails. “You’re kind of cute sometimes,” she says with a grin.

“I’m going to take my contacts out,” Santana huffs out, pulling the case from her bag and heading for the bathroom, ignoring the sound of laughter still drifting over from the bed.

++

When she comes back from the bathroom, Brittany is lying on her stomach on the bed, her phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder as she looks at the photos she took on her camera earlier in the day. Santana sits down next to her, the bed dipping under her weight, and Brittany glances at her as she talks, angling the camera better so she can see too. 

She listens and realises Brittany’s mom is on the other end of the line, and she leans down to press a kiss to Brittany’s shoulder through the thin cotton of her tshirt and whispers, “I’m going to get ready for bed.” Brittany nods and watches her go as she continues to talk to her mom, her eyes never leaving her as she crosses the room, light and interested as Santana pulls her washbag and pjs out of her bag and heads for the bathroom.

She stares at herself for a moment in the mirror, wondering if she looks any different in Iowa than she did in Ohio, squinting a little at her reflection before she shakes her head and pulls her shirt over her head, dropping it onto the counter carelessly as she runs the water and waits for it to heat up. She washes her face slowly, the warmth suffusing her skin as she washes away the day, mustard and ketchup in Indiana, endless fields in Iowa, Brittany’s kisses on the bed. 

She feels better when she’s done, but also like she’s lost something too.

Brittany comes in when she’s brushing her teeth, and she holds her toothbrush out wordlessly until Santana squeezes the toothpaste onto her brush and watches her in the mirror as she slides into place next to her, bumping their elbows together as they brush because she’s standing on the wrong side, until they start giggling and catching each other’s eyes in the mirror.

Santana doesn’t want the moment to end, and her teeth are probably as clean as they’ve ever been when she finally spits out the last mouthful of foam and wipes her mouth on the towel, watching as Brittany carries on brushing carefully. 

She gathers her things and covers them with her discarded shirt, making a bundle in her arms. “I’ll get changed in the other room,” she says, trying to take a step past her towards the door, but Brittany moves to block her quickly, her free arm grabbing her hip as she grins and leans forward to kiss her messily, tasting like toothpaste and leaving traces of it on her lips. 

Santana laughs into her mouth, pulling back and wiping the foam from her lips as she watches Brittany smirk. “Okay,” Brittany says softly, moving closer to the sink.

+

She strips off her clothes quickly, taking a moment to fold them across the chair in the corner next to her bag before pulling on her sleep shirt and shorts, tucking her glasses into their case carefully and setting them down on the table next to the bed so she can find them in the morning. She suddenly doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, and she debates turning the television on, just so there’s some noise in the room other than her own heartbeat as she waits for Brittany, wondering at the way it suddenly speeds up and beats erratically, even though this is nothing they haven’t done a million times before, just transplanted to Iowa instead of in their own rooms. 

She sits on the edge of her bed, then moves back to lean against the headboard, stretching her legs out in front of her, then pulling them up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, before reaching for the remote for the TV and flicking it on. The screen is too bright in the dim room, and she turns it off again quickly, squinting against the sudden light.

She doesn’t know why she’s acting this way, but she’s suddenly seeing everything with eyes that don’t feel like her own, and every movement feels stilted and awkward. She fidgets, tucking her feet under the covers and then pulling them out again, waiting for Brittany to come and give her some hint of what to do.

+

Brittany finds her sitting cross-legged on the bed, just staring into space, lost in her own thoughts. She can’t understand what feels so different, and it’s not until Brittany climbs up next to her in her pj pants and bra, nudging her a little as she tries to find her eyes, that she’s pulled from her thoughts.

“Penny,” Brittany says, holding out her empty palm like she’s handing Santana an imaginary coin, and Santana blinks down at her hand for a second before she answers.

“This is like—this is kind of like playing house,” Santana says after a moment, feeling her brow furrow because that doesn’t really come close to explaining it. “Don’t you feel it?”

“San, we haven’t played house since we were, like, eight, and you decided we couldn’t be wife and wife anymore,” Brittany smiles so Santana knows there’s no malice behind the reminder, just amusement at how wrong she’d been all those years before.

“I was stupid when I was eight,” Santana says quietly.

Brittany moves closer and wraps her legs around her, one behind her back and the other kicked across her lap as she tucks one hand under her sleep shirt at her waist and the other at her back, smoothing her fingers back and forth against her skin. “You were cute when you were eight,” she says instead, ducking to bump her chin against Santana’s shoulder.

They stay like that for a long moment, Santana’s hand playing with the cotton of Brittany’s pajama pants, plucking it away from her skin in little tents before flattening it back down again. Brittany watches her silently, her chin tucked against her shoulder, her fingers still rubbing little circles into her skin.

“If you told me when I was eight that I’d be here with you now, I think I would have thought you were crazy,” Santana says eventually, and she feels rather than hears Brittany breathe out against her skin. Her breath is soft and warm, and Santana shivers at the feel of it, aching to feel Brittany’s lips there instead.

“I tried to tell you,” Brittany says, and Santana hears her stop to swallow before she speaks again, “I tried to tell you but you couldn’t hear me.”

Santana doesn’t let her say anything else, doesn’t want this to go past summer sadness and into true sadness for all the years they lost because of her, just turns and finds her lips, swallowing the moan that escapes Brittany and tucking it away safe inside her with all the others. Brittany’s fingers tighten at her back, digging into her skin as though she’s trying to pull her closer as the kiss deepens. 

Santana wants to be closer.

She sucks Brittany’s tongue into her mouth, her hand coming up to find her cheek and urge her closer still, until there’s no space between their bodies and they touch everywhere, Brittany’s front warm against her shoulder, her stomach, her hip. 

She needs more, needs to feel Brittany with nothing in between them, and she twists, pulling her shirt over her head as she goes, and reaching around to unfasten the clasp of Brittany’s bra before tossing it aside as she leans forward to find her lips again and press her down into the mattress, sighing out a gasp at the way Brittany’s skin feels against hers, soft and familiar, like she’s coming home.

They keep kissing, slow and sort of desperate, the same way the kisses were before they went out for food, Brittany’s hand on the small of her back solid and reassuring, as though she’s never going to let her go. She kisses a path from Brittany’s mouth to her neck and down to her collarbone, grazing her teeth against the skin as Brittany’s shivers underneath her, her free hand finding Santana’s and tangling their fingers together tightly against the pillow, smiling up at her for just a second before Santana finds her lips again.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of this, of the way Brittany surrounds her, somehow underneath her and all around her, kissing her like she’s drawing her further inside, until everything in her is tuned to Brittany and all she wants to do is kiss every inch of her, feel every patch of her skin, aching to touch her in all the places that no one else gets to, secret and soft just for her.

Brittany shifts a little underneath her, until Santana’s in the space between her legs and pressing her hips into her almost where Brittany needs her, shorts and pajamas still between them as Brittany arches up off the bed and kisses her harder, openmouthed and deep, like she’s trying to suck her in. 

They’re both breathing hard, Brittany gasping into her mouth when Santana nips at her bottom lip, and Santana feels something in her stomach flip flop at the way Brittany cants her hips up underneath her, the hand on Santana’s back trying to press her down at the same time. It’s still not enough, and Brittany’s breathing is starting to get more ragged, hot and wet against her ear when she breaks the kiss to whisper, “Please,” voice cracking on the word.

Santana doesn’t need to be told twice, and she pushes her hand between their bodies quickly, past the waistband of Brittany’s pajamas and her underwear, finding Brittany impossibly wet and trembling beneath her, her hips taking her away and back again, bringing her closer with every movement, until Santana’s fingers press against her and still, waiting for Brittany to dictate the pace. 

It’s like being in the eye of the storm, and instead of becoming more frantic everything calms, until it’s just the two of them the same way it is back in their bedrooms in Lima, and all other thoughts are banished from her head. They both sigh out a breath and rock into each other slowly, their foreheads pressed together as Santana starts to move her fingers in slow circles, Brittany whimpering out a moan as she meets Santana’s eyes and moves with her, perfectly in time just like always. 

She loses herself in Brittany’s eyes and the feel of her under her fingers, to the sounds Brittany makes as Santana touches her, little gasps and murmurs that sound a lot like Santana’s name, their hands still clasped together on the pillow by their heads. She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, rocking together and kissing lazily, only really recognises any time has passed when Brittany lets go of her hand, ignoring her whimper, to push her hand between them and into Santana’s shorts. Santana lets out a groan and bites her lip as Brittany slides into their rhythm, finding Santana’s eyes and smiling into them, kissing her feather light as they rock together again and again.

It feels like they’ve completed some kind of circuit and every bit of Santana has come alive, so that when she moves her fingers Brittany feels it and moves hers too, sending a surge of electricity through her. It feels like she’s touching herself and touching Brittany all at once, like she can’t tell the difference between them, so she doesn’t know if it’s her or Brittany gasping into every kiss, if it’s her or Brittany whispering nonsense words against the other’s skin, if it’s her or Brittany guiding them, if it’s her or Brittany gasping out that she’s about to—

Brittany’s eyes are all she can see, deep and dark, moving closer and turning a blurry blue when Brittany leans closer to kiss her, and then coming into focus again when she leans back against the pillow, biting her lips to muffle the sounds she’s making. Santana kisses every bit of skin she can see, openmouthed and wet against her jaw as she shudders above her, and feels her stomach tighten, gasping out a breath against Brittany’s skin.

She doesn’t know which one of them cries out first, doesn’t know if Brittany’s fingers are digging into her back to keep her close or to stop Brittany from moving away, doesn’t know if she kisses Brittany or Brittany kisses her, slow and steady, softer and softer, on and on.

She doesn’t know which one of them keeps them moving, slower and slower, until their fingers still and their hips twitch, tiny movements she feels like they’re much bigger, gasping and sighing and laughing into Brittany’s mouth as they exchange clumsy kisses, again and again and again.

+

She wakes to the sound of Brittany’s camera clicking and whirring, and it takes her a second to remember where they are, and then she pulls the covers up over her head and groans against the sunlight coming in through the shades. “You’re like taking naked pictures of me right now,” Santana grumbles after a moment, “I don’t think that’s what Quinn meant by documenting the trip.”

She hears Brittany laugh and then the covers are being tugged out of her hands and down her body, and the shutter clicks again as Brittany takes another picture. “Who said anything about Quinn?” She asks, grinning down at her, her hair in messy waves over her shoulder. “I want to remember this too you know.”

Santana rolls her eyes and tries to shove her away but Brittany comes closer instead and leans down to brush her hair out of the way and then press a kiss against her shoulder, biting down a little when Santana tries to push her off. “Ow!” Santana laughs and shoves her again, Brittany rolling over to the other side of the bed and bringing the camera up like a weapon, snapping another picture.

“Stop it!” Santana makes a grab for the camera but Brittany holds it up higher than she can reach, chuckling when Santana swipes for it again and misses by a couple of inches.

“Britt,” Santana says, exasperated, but Brittany just laughs waiting for her to grab again. “Come on give it to me.”

“Make me,” Brittany says, sticking her chin up defiantly, and then Santana surges forward and grabs her sides, tickling her in the place that’s made her squirm ever since she found it when they were seven, and Brittany wriggles and tries to get away. She brings her hands back down to protect herself and Santana spies her chance to grab the camera, prising it out of Brittany’s grip with one hand while she keeps tickling with the other.

“You play dirty,” Brittany gasps and Santana smirks, glancing at the dial on top of the camera and hoping it’s on the right settings to take a photo.

“How do you like it?” she asks, snapping three quick pictures in a row, and then laughing when Brittany runs her fingers through her own hair and pouts, striking a pose for the next shot. 

“I probably look really hot,” Brittany deadpans, and Santana can’t find it in her to disagree because she looks perfectly dishevelled, covers pulled up to her waist and hair falling in messy strands around her face.

She wants to reach down and tangle her fingers into them, tugging through the strands to pull Brittany in for a kiss, but she ends up staring instead, until Brittany brings a self conscious hand up to brush at her face, like she’s expecting to brush away the thing that’s making Santana gaze at her.

Something imperceptible in the room shifts, and suddenly Santana’s breath is catching in her throat. She sees Brittany’s expression turn serious, like she can feel it too.

Santana climbs to her feet carefully, feeling the bed give underneath her as she wobbles a little, trying to find her balance, grateful she’s still got her sleep shorts on if nothing else. She stands over Brittany, one foot either side of her hips, angling the camera down on her face and squinting through the viewfinder, watching Brittany smile up at her, eyes clear blue and shining. “Santana, what are you—”

“I wanna remember this too,” Santana says softly, pressing her finger down on the button and wondering why the flash doesn’t go off. She takes another one just in case, hearing the shutter click this time as Brittany’s hand wraps around her ankle and her fingers brush over the bone, gentle and exploratory. 

“Come here,” Brittany whispers, her hand sliding a little higher, and Santana does, sinking down so that her knees bracket Brittany’s hips as she straddles her, setting the camera down on the bed next to them as Brittany’s arms wrap around her and pull her down into a kiss.

+

They lose track of time, and it isn’t until there’s a banging on the door that she realises it’s almost time for them to check out. She stops kissing Brittany long enough to grab her phone to check the time and then she bursts out laughing and scrambles out of bed, searching for her clothes. Brittany looks a little punch drunk, like she’s kind of high from their kisses, and she blinks a little, like she isn’t entirely sure what’s going on. 

Santana throws Brittany’s sweatshirt over her head and pulls her jeans up her legs and moves towards the door, giggling as she says, “Go and hide in the bathroom,” to Brittany and laughing as Brittany does as she says, taking the sheets with her and still looking dazed.

Santana opens the door a crack to find a disgruntled woman looking at her, wearing the motel’s uniform and leaning against a cart carrying more cleaning products than Santana’s ever seen before. She swallows. 

“Um,” Santana says, “We were just leaving.”

“Check out is in fifteen minutes,” the woman says, and her eyes widen when she takes in the sheetless bed behind her and Brittany’s clothes strewn over the floor.

“We only need five,” Santana says sweetly, and then shuts the door on her, collapsing against it and giggling when Brittany sticks her head around the bathroom door. 

“We have to leave?” she asks, and she sounds so disappointed that Santana bursts out laughing again, scooping Brittany’s clothes off the floor and throwing them at her clumsily.

Brittany catches them but drops the sheet she’s holding around her in the process, revealing the fact that she’s still completely naked, and Santana’s grin widens as Brittany laughs and mutters a careless, “Oops.” 

She grins at Santana through her lashes and Santana steps closer, reaching for her hips and then frowning when Brittany steps away, “You said we’d be gone in five minutes,” Brittany murmurs, pulling her underwear up her legs and rooting through the bundle of clothes for her bra. 

“Checkout’s in fifteen,” Santana corrects her quickly with a smirk, and then laughs when Brittany rolls her eyes and steps backwards into the bathroom, shutting the door between them when Santana tries to follow.

“Come on, Britt,” Santana laughs again, pressing her palm flat against the door. “Let me in.”

“I’m ignoring you,” she hears from the other side, and feels the grin fall from her face.

She stands there for a moment, wondering if Brittany is going to let her in.

She doesn’t.

The door opens moments later to reveal Brittany fully clothed with the sheets in her arms, and she tosses them towards the bed, grabbing her camera so she can stuff it back into her bag. Santana watches her, wondering what she ever did to deserve that, mouth hanging open a little when Brittany turns to look at her.

“Aren’t you getting dressed?” she asks mildly when Santana doesn’t say anything, and Santana just shakes her head and wordlessly reaches for her clothes.

+

They get out of the room in seven minutes, and the maid glares at them as they hurry past her, biting their lips to keep from giggling and ducking their heads. Brittany carries both their bags, just because, and Santana latches onto her pinky, swinging it between them as they head for the car. 

Brittany says she’ll drive, and Santana nods, grinning so hard that Brittany laughs and says she’s weirding her out, and Santana leans across the console to kiss her softly, one hand tangling into her hair as she waits for her GPS to remember where they were from the day before.

Brittany pulls out of the lot carefully, Santana watching her with this far away smile on her face, reaching across the console to rest her hand on her knee and squeeze. She watches Brittany grin to herself as she follows the GPS directions to the edge of the city, Santana’s hand never leaving her knee.

Santana yawns behind her hand when they pass a coffee shop, realising for the first time just how tired she is because of their lack of sleep the night before, and it’s only then that she realises Brittany is swallowing a yawn too.

“We need to stop at a gas station,” Santana says, reaching for her pages of maps and print outs tucked into the door, “I think there’s one before we hit i-80.”

“Does it have coffee?” Brittany asks, and Santana murmurs a prayer under her breath that it does.

+

They both get the biggest cups of coffee the gas station offers, and she doesn’t realise why the young guy behind the counter is staring at them with an incredulous expression on his face until they get outside and she takes a sip. 

It’s maybe the worst thing she’s ever tasted.

She sips at it again, more cautiously this time, but it still tastes the same, so bad that it can’t even be saved with creamer and sugar, and she watches Brittany drink some and wince, narrowing her eyes like she’s glaring at the cup.

“This is the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” Santana says after a moment and Brittany turns to look at her, taking another sip valiantly before setting the cup down in the cupholder under the radio.

“Tell me about it,” she mumbles, and then they both laugh, even though Santana isn’t even sure what’s funny.

It’s not until they’re back on the road, their coffee cooling in its cups, that Santana realises what was so funny, and then she huffs out a laugh and says, “Oh God, I actually miss the Lima Bean right now,” and Brittany shakes her head and glances over at her like she’s just said the most obvious thing in the world before glancing back at the road and reaching for her hand.

+

They’ve been on the road for an hour or so when Santana pulls Brittany’s camera out of her bag and asks her how to look at the photos they took the day before, and Brittany tells her which buttons to press to bring them up. She flicks through them slowly, at all of the fields they have to send to Quinn, the pictures of her driving and then one of Brittany, too close to the lens and pulling a silly face, because she took it herself.

She gets to the pictures Brittany took that morning and stares at herself, lips parting in surprise. The picture is mostly of her face and shoulder, her hair falling in waves down her back, lying on her front with her face pressed into the pillow. Her eyes are closed, delicate and still, a faint blush on her cheeks from whatever she’s dreaming about— _Brittany_ , she thinks—and she almost doesn’t recognise herself.

She doesn’t know how Brittany did it, but it’s like she’s seeing herself the way Brittany does for the first time, like she’s seeing through her eyes, and she wonders who the girl in the bed can be, because it certainly can’t be her, not the Santana Lopez who ran the Cheerios with an iron fist and terrorised the underclassmen.

She looks peaceful and content, like whatever she’s dreaming of is the best thing in the world. 

_Brittany_ , she thinks again.

In the next photo, Brittany’s arm is reaching into the frame, her hand tangled with both of Santana’s though Santana can’t remember it, pressed against her mouth like she’s about to kiss the back of her hand if only the camera had waited a second longer to take the picture. It’s such an intimate moment that she feels like she’s intruding, like it’s Brittany’s moment and she doesn’t belong there, and she glances over at Brittany in the other seat shyly, trying to see if she’s noticed what she’s looking at.

When she gets to the photos she took of Brittany during their play fight, all three are blurry, nothing but blonde hair and honey skin streaked against the light. They remind her of Brittany so much that she can’t bring herself to delete them, and she smiles softly as she traces her finger over the screen, trying to work out what’s a shoulder, a hand, Brittany’s smile.

The last photo is in focus, her feet tucked at the bottom of the frame around Brittany’s hips as she smiles up at the lens. She looks far away, more distance between her on the other side of the camera and Brittany on the bed than she remembers there being, and it looks wrong, somehow, after the others; not Brittany the way the others are, not perfect the way Brittany’s photos of her are.

A wave of embarrassment floods her, that she ever thought she could take a photo of Brittany as she really is, perfect and vibrant and there in a way a camera can never capture.

She presses the buttons next to the screen experimentally, skimming through the menus until she sees the word delete and presses okay, watching the picture disappear forever.

She closes her eyes and remembers how she’d looked without the camera between them, the way she’d felt under her hands when she fell back down to the bed and pressed their bodies together.

She doesn’t need a picture to remember that.

+

Somewhere on i-80 they play a game where they can only listen to songs named after places, and they listen to four Bon Iver songs before Brittany plays _Paradise City_ , and Santana laughs as the guitars kick in, “S’not a real place, Britt.”

Brittany ignores her and nudges Santana’s shoulder with her hands when it gets to the part about “Where the girls are pretty,” and then she sticks her tongue out and says, “Yeah it is,” with this really cheesy grin on her face that makes Santana really want to make her pull the car over, just so she can kiss her.

+

She never wants to see another field for as long as she lives.

Brittany makes her take another four pictures “for Quinn,” and as she presses the button, she wonders when her girlfriend got so mean.

+

They go from fields to the city in one looping stretch of highway, and she starts with a jolt and reaches for her plans in the door, mumbling, “Stop in Des Moines,” like she’s only just remembering.

“You need something?” Brittany asks, glancing over at her as she checks her mirrors and switches lanes, and Santana slumps back in her seat and rubs a hand over her face as she yawns.

“I need to see civilization for like half an hour or so.”

Brittany just laughs and nods, “Also, coffee.”

“Also, coffee,” Santana agrees, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been so grateful for Brittany’s ability to read her mind.

+

She finds the pages for Des Moines amongst all her maps and manages to direct them to University Avenue where she knows there’s a gas station and somewhere they can get food without going too far out of the way, and Brittany weaves through the traffic like she’s been doing it her whole life, pulling into the station and getting out to fill the tank before Santana can offer to do it herself.

There’s a Wendy’s across the road and she didn’t realise how hungry she was until she sees the sign, and it takes her a second to remember that they didn’t eat anything before they left. It feels like hours ago when they were in Davenport, even though it’s only been maybe three, and it feels even longer since they were in Lima, even though it’s only been a day.

She wonders when time became something measured in cities instead of hours, and how it is that it changes the further west they go.

She wonders what time will be like in California, when Brittany isn’t there to give some meaning to the minutes.

Brittany leans back in through the open window to reach for her purse and pulls her from her thoughts, but Santana tosses some money at her before she can grab it, laughing when Brittany rolls her eyes.

“It’s my turn,” she says but Santana shakes her head and grabs her purse before she can reach it so Brittany has no option but to take her money. She’s pretty sure she hears her grumbling all the way into the store.

Santana fiddles with her ipod while she waits for Brittany to come back, glancing up out of habit until she realises she can see Brittany through the doors and then relaxing back into her seat.

She doesn’t know what it is about gas stations that put her on edge, all of a sudden. 

Brittany comes back balancing two cups of coffee in her hands and Santana jumps out of the car to get the door for her without really thinking about it, blushing a little when Brittany grins and thanks her, waiting for her to shut the door behind her and scramble in her own side. 

“Such a gentleman,” Brittany says fondly, smile tugging at her lips, and Santana tries to roll her eyes to offset the blush she can feel on her cheeks. 

The coffee is significantly better than the coffee from the morning, and Santana gulps it down, imagining that she can feel it buzzing through her veins, kickstarting her heart and waking her up. She sighs happily as Brittany giggles into hers and drinks it more slowly, peering over the top of it at Santana like she’s the best thing in the world.

Santana looks away and takes another mouthful of coffee, feeling it burn as much as her cheeks, all the way down her throat.

+

They go through the drive-thru at Wendy’s, Brittany side-eyeing Santana when she says she should get a salad and ordering her a cheeseburger anyway because, she says, even Sue Sylvester can’t see what they’re eating from two states away. 

“You’re not gonna be able to dance when you get to Berkeley,” Santana says with a grin, poking Brittany in the belly as she pushes the car into gear and pulls up to the next window, and Brittany just laughs, swatting her hands away.

They have a brief but furious argument when they have to pay, Santana leaning over the console and almost into Brittany’s lap to try and get the woman to take her money instead of Brittany’s, but Brittany pushes her back, laughing, and presses her money into the startled woman’s hand before Santana can try again.

Santana pulls her face and tries to tuck the money into the pockets of Brittany’s shorts but Brittany somehow manages to squirm away, still giggling as the woman looks backwards and forwards between them. “Babe!” Brittany squeaks, and the woman’s eyebrows shoot up a little higher.

“Have a nice day,” she says, but she sounds uncertain, and it just makes Brittany crack up all over again, until the car behind them honks impatiently and she hits the gas pedal, sending the car lurching forward.

Santana’s still pretending to sulk about the money when they get their food and pull into a space to eat it, refusing to take the burger Brittany offers her and folding her arms across her chest. “I would have paid,” she says, swirling the last of her coffee round her cup and draining the dregs. 

“You got the gas,” Brittany pushes the burger into her lap and starts to unwrap her own. “And you’re not the only one who can be a gentleman, so.” She grins and takes a huge bite of her burger.

“Gentlewoman,” Santana corrects her with a sigh, finally unwrapping her burger because she’s still hungry and it smells so good.. “The best part of this relationship is that there aren’t any gentlemen in it.” She sticks her tongue out and watches Brittany laugh.

“Womanly,” Brittany mutters to herself, like she’s testing it out, and grins into the next bite.

+

They get back on the road as soon as they’re done, Brittany driving because she says Santana still looks tired despite the giant ass cup of coffee she drank, as well as the one she runs back across the road to get from the gas station before they leave.

As soon as they pass beyond the city limits they’re surrounded by green again, fields stretching out in every direction as far as they can see. Brittany peers through the window interestedly, and Santana honestly can’t understand what she’s finding to look at. Everything’s just green for as far as she can see, except for the dusty farm houses she can just see every now and then set back from the road. 

She can’t even be bothered to take more pictures to send to Quinn, even though Brittany says they should with a grin, and she fiddles with the dials and buttons on Brittany’s camera, just to give herself something to do.

She makes a note of where they started so she can put them back afterwards, and ignores the way Brittany watches her out of the corners of her eyes like she’s afraid she’s going to break it.

She takes a pictures of herself in the wing mirror and then another one of her hand draped out of the car window, snapping a couple of Brittany driving, and one big old farmhouse that’s a little closer to the road than the others but it doesn’t distract her from the unchanging landscape, and she twists round to drop the camera onto the back seat and stare out of the window, leaning back into her seat to watch the traffic around them, just so she doesn’t start to nod off. 

The cars passing them on the road are the most interesting thing for miles around and even those are starting to blur together, streaks of red and blue and silver in different orders, over and over again.

She texts Sam a message that just says _help_ and he texts back twenty minutes later asking why she’s being melodramatic. They swap messages for a while, just stupid shit that wouldn’t really make a lot of sense to anyone else, Sam telling her about Quinn’s increasingly neurotic packing the closer she gets to leaving, and how he’s kind of glad he’s staying in Lima and going to Rhodes State just because of how crazy everyone is acting. 

She relates his messages to Brittany while she texts him back, tapping her fingers against the screen quickly.

 _I can’t believe ur staying there when we all left :(_  
(3.49pm)  
\---  
 _well I figure ull all come back 1 day :)_  
(3.53pm)  
\---  
 _& I got that job @ the comic store. we set 4 life!_  
(3.54pm)  
\---

+

Brittany gets her to play a bunch of Ke$ha songs and then somehow manages to dance in her seat while she drives, singing along in that over exaggerated way she does to all of Ke$ha’s songs, winking and grinning and pulling her face.

Santana suspects it’s only funny because they’ve been in the car so long, but she laughs until her sides hurt, fishing Brittany’s camera off the back seat to take a picture before she stops.

+

Seriously, the fields.

She is so over the fucking fields.

+

It’s only her GPS telling her that alerts her to the fact that they’ve crossed over into Nebraska and they both get quiet, trying to work out if it looks any different than Iowa. She thinks things are looking up when they drive through Omaha, like they’ve found civilisation at last after hours of searching, but soon enough they’re leaving it behind, and Santana actually turns around in her seat to watch the lights disappear. 

She manages to stop short of holding her hand out towards it like she’s in some cheesy movie, but only just.

+

“We’re stopping for the night in Lincoln,” Santana says, reaching for her maps in the door again, as Brittany glances at her sideways.

“Won’t we be in Lincoln in like an hour?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Santana nods, “There’s a Motel 6 we can stay at.”

“Okay, we could do that,” Brittany checks her mirrors and switches lanes to overtake a truck. “Or we could keep going and find somewhere else to stay.”

Santana turns to stare at her in surprise, jaw hanging open in a way that would probably be comical if she wasn’t so suddenly scared. “But my plans,” she says, like that should be enough, feeling her heart beat painfully quick in her chest all of a sudden.

“I’ve seen your plans,” Brittany says. “And we have miles and miles to drive tomorrow. It’s not even late, we might as well cut down where we can.”

“But I didn’t look up anywhere else around here,” Santana says, fingers tightening around the pages reflexively. 

“So? There’s always motels just off the interstate. We’ll find one,” Brittany grins, wide and easy. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Duh,” Santana rolls her eyes, “But I also like to know where I’m going.”

“Trust me,” Brittany says again. 

Santana clutches her plans closer to her chest and looks out the window, trying to ignore the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach.

+

Lincoln comes and goes, and when it’s clear Brittany isn’t going to turn the car around, she stuffs the pages with the motel on back into the door and stares at one of her printed maps instead, trying to work out where would be the best place to stop. 

She doesn’t know why but she keeps her body turned away from Brittany and towards the door, shielding the map from her view. She sneaks a glance, just to check she isn’t paying attention.

Brittany is humming along to the song playing on her ipod under her breath, showing a fine disregard for Santana’s plans and the hours she spent looking up where they should stop, and the further they get from Lincoln the most Santana twists her fingers against the pages, tracing i-80 and trying to work out where they are.

She feels like if she can pinpoint them on the map she could set them straight again, but they’re moving too fast, and she keeps one eye on the clock, wondering when Brittany will consider it too late to keep going.

They pass signs for places Santana has never heard of, and she hurries to find them on the map, hoping it will help as the panic flutters inside her chest and against her ribs, trying to get out. 

“How does Lexington sound?” Brittany asks suddenly, nodding at a sign up ahead. 

She knows enough that Lexington is probably the biggest city they’re going to hit for a while and she nods quickly, folding her map and tucking it into the door before Brittany can see. “We can stop in Lexington if you’re getting tired, baby,” she says, even though it’s not even 8pm, trying to keep her voice calm and hoping Brittany won’t notice the slightly stilted edge to her movements, the way her hands slide against each other, not quite nervous, but just enough to betray the fact that something is wrong.

She stays silent when Brittany pulls off the interstate and towards Lexington, drumming her fingers against her leg, and they’ve barely been off i-80 for five minutes when Santana spots a motel and Brittany pulls into the parking lot without saying a word, grinning proudly when she kills the engine and turns to look at her.

“Was that so hard?” she asks, reaching across to brush her hand against Santana’s knee. “We didn’t even have to go into Lexington.”

Santana tries to put a smile on her face but it feels wrong, and she watches Brittany’s expression turn quizzical for just a moment before the look disappears. “Want me to go see if they have a room?” Brittany asks, and Santana nods, reaching for her purse to go with her, but Brittany shakes her head quickly.

“You wait here,” she says softly, leaning across the console to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth before she disappears, hair shining in the last of the light.

+

Brittany comes back a minute later waving a key at her through the window, and Santana feels some of her nerves disappear, leaving her in an instant, just from the sight of Brittany’s smile.

She follows her to their room, one hand twisting round the strap of her overnight bag awkwardly, still feeling a little out of sorts, like she’s missed a step going downstairs. Brittany gets their door open, and kicks her shoes off before jumping on the bed, rolling onto her back and sighing happily, stretching all her limbs out until Santana hears her joints pop. Santana watches her for a second, the jumpy feeling in her stomach growing by the second, and then she doesn’t say a word, just drops her bag where she stands and climbs up next to her, half next to her and half on top of her, burying her face in Brittany’s shoulder and breathing her in, her fingers tightening in her hair.

“San?” Brittany asks, trying to sit up and look at her, but Santana doesn’t let go so she gives up, bring her arms up to wrap around her back instead and rub comforting circles into her back.

She’s gotten a little better at asking for what she wants, so after a moment she whispers, “Can we just stay here for a while?” against Brittany’s shoulder, voice half muffled so she’s not even sure if Brittany hears her until she nods, her chin bumping against the crown of her head. 

“I got you,” Brittany says easily, sliding her arms a little further around her. “I got you, baby.”

+

She isn’t sure when she falls asleep, but the room’s dark and Brittany is pulling her shirt over her head when she wakes, one arm lifting her from the bed just enough to unfasten the clasp of her bra. 

Every time she blinks she’s wearing a little less clothes, and then a little more, so she ends up in her sleep shirt and shorts again and tucked under the blankets somehow, even though she doesn’t remember getting off the bed. Brittany leans to pull the covers up over her, and she reaches out blindly, whining low in the back of her throat, trying to find her in the dark.

“Two seconds, San,” Brittany whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be two seconds.”

She imagines Brittany pulling her t-shirt over her head and peeling her jeans down her legs, and it feels forever, but then Brittany’s sliding into the bed next to her as Santana rolls into her arms, one hand tangling into her hair and the other resting on her chest so that she can feel her heartbeat, a reassuringly steady thump thump, as she sinks back into unconsciousness. 

+

She wakes up just before the alarm Brittany somehow remembered to set goes off, and she reaches for Brittany’s phone to switch it off at once, hoping it didn’t wake her. 

She blinks her eyes against the dryness she feels in them, and it takes her a second to realise she fell asleep with her contacts in and she rubs her fists into her eyes, knowing it won’t really help but just to give her something to do.

She blinks a few times experimentally, but it still hurts, and she gets out of bed reluctantly, glancing back at her still sleeping girlfriend, wishing she could climb back in next to her. She manages to get her contacts out on the third and fourth try, and sighs at the relief she feels when she blinks, reaching for her glasses and waiting for the bathroom mirror to come back into focus.

Brittany’s still asleep when she pads back into the other room, pulling her clothes off the floor and looks through her bag for fresh ones, and she drapes them over her arm and crawls back onto the bed next to Brittany trailing a hand down her arm and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Wake up, Britty,” she says softly, watching as Brittany blinks once, twice, her pretty blue eyes far away in whatever dream she’s been pulled from.

Brittany stirs and rolls towards her, brushing a hand against her elbow as she stifles a yawn. “Is it time to go again?” she asks distantly, like she still hasn’t quite worked out where they are.

“Nebraska,” Santana says to her unanswered question, pressing a kiss to her jaw softly. “And we gotta go to Utah.”

“Can we go in a little while?” Brittany mumbles, face buried in the pillow as she reaches an arm out to pull Santana down next to her. “Sleepy,” she draws the word out, whining sweetly.

Santana laughs and kisses her jaw again, then her cheek, her nose, and finally her lips, over and over in noisy little pecks, giggling into every one, trying to kiss Brittany back to her. Brittany grumbles and tries to roll away, but Santana wraps an arm around her and keeps herself close, leaning down to whisper into her ear, “If you get up now you can get in the shower with me. And I’ll let you sleep in the car.”

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Brittany get out of bed so fast in her life.

+

The shower’s tiny, and Brittany wraps herself around her to keep from touching any of the tiles, so close that the water falls down on both of them, keeping them warm. They kiss lazily, not really with any intent but just because they’re so close, laughing and pulling each other further under the water to make sure they’re getting clean. Brittany’s hands slide against her back, warm and soft from the water, keeping her close. 

Santana snuggles further into her embrace, leaning up to kiss the underside of her chin softly and work her hands through her hair as the water sinks into it, already starting to curl at the tips from the heat. “You’re gonna have curly hair today,” Santana murmurs as she tugs at the ends, watching them straighten and then go wavy again. 

“Your fault,” Brittany pretends to pout and shakes her head so that her hair whips around, water flying out in all directions and hitting Santana, and then laughs at the offended look on Santana’s face and pulls her closer again.

Brittany washes her hair for her, her fingertips scratching against her scalp to work the shampoo through in a way that feels so good she can start to feel her eyes get heavy again, and she’s pretty sure she could fall asleep standing up, even with the water raining down on her. Brittany washes the suds away carefully, keeping her hand over her eyes to protect them, and then kisses her before she takes her hand away so that Santana gasps into her mouth, completely surprised.

She wonders when she’ll ever stop being surprised by Brittany.

+

They stay in the shower so long the water starts to go cold, but she’s the first to step out of it, casting a glance back at Brittany shivering under the water as she fights to turn the shower off. Santana grabs a towel and wraps it around herself, and then steps closer to the shower again, holding it out so that Brittany can share it with her, feeling well pleased with herself when Brittany’s mouth quirks into a grin and she steps into her embrace, the towel around them keeping them warm. 

She rubs it against Brittany’s skin softly, watching it flush pink and then pale under her fingers, Brittany standing stock still, eyes soft as she watches her, an expression of perfect trust on her face, waiting until she’s finished to take her face in her hands and kiss her, thumbs brushing the water from her cheeks. 

“We have to leave,” Santana mumbles against her lips. “Stop it.”

“You stop it,” Brittany whispers back, but she smiles into the next kiss, and she’s still smiling when Santana pulls away to find her clothes, tossing a shirt over her head and pulling her underwear up her legs as Brittany watches, the towel still around her. 

“It’s not supposed to be fun watching you get dressed,” Brittany smirks, “But it is,” and Santana laughs and throws her bag at her, watching her scramble into her own clothes as she packs everything away.

+

They ask the boy behind the desk where there’s a gas station, and he points them further up the road with a bored wave of his arm, and Santana makes Brittany wait while she loads up Google Maps on her phone to check that he’s was right. 

She thinks she sees Brittany rolls her eyes in her peripheral vision, but she pretends she doesn’t, just turns the key in the ignition and heads the way he told them until she sees the sign and pulls in, getting out to pump the gas, purse clutched in her hand, before Brittany can make a move.

There’s a coffee house a little further up, and Santana gets the biggest cup they sell and a blueberry muffin, hoping the sugar will give her the kick she needs to stay awake and drive for 11 hours. Brittany gets a bottle of water, still yawning every few minutes, and Santana reaches across the console to ruffle her hair just before they leave, until Brittany squirms, laughing, and tells her to stop.

+

They’ve just passed North Platte when Brittany falls asleep, and Santana keeps sneaking glances at her just because she looks so cute, head pillowed on her arm against the window, mouth hanging open just a little bit. 

She reaches for the stereo controls on her dash and turns the music down, just a little.

+

Brittany wakes up just as they’re crossing the border into Wyoming, and she mumbles something unintelligible about cowboys before she’s all the way awake, and Santana bites her lips to try and muffle her giggles.

“What time is it?” Brittany murmurs, and Santana glances at the clock on her dash and frowns because it’s a lot earlier than she thought it was. She stares at it for a moment trying to figure it out.

“Ten thirty,” she says only it comes out a lot more uncertain than she intended. “My phone said it was eight thirty when we left.” She feels like she’s forgotten something only she’s not entirely sure what it is.

Brittany groans from the passenger seat. “Did we cross time zones?” she asks, rubbing a hand over her face to try and wake herself up the rest of the way. “I think you time travelled while I was asleep.”

“No, but that’s only an hour and...” she trails off, suddenly getting it. “Our phones updated and my dash clock didn’t. That’s still Eastern time and we’re in Mountain now.” 

Brittany starts to giggle, low sounds deep in her belly, uncontrollable and infectious.

“It’s still Tuesday, right?” Santana asks faintly because she’s not even sure anymore, and then Brittany’s laughing so hard that she has to join in.

+

They stop outside of Cheyenne to get a sandwich, Brittany directing the guy behind the counter at Subway to keep piling pickles and onions and peppers onto hers with a straight face while he gets more and more alarmed. Santana follows along behind, laughing at her, but she knows Brittany will eat the damn sandwich anyway, and she honestly doesn’t know how she ended up with someone with such gross taste.

“I’m not going to kiss you later, if you eat that,” she says once they’ve found a table, and Brittany grins and takes a huge bite of it, calling her bluff.

She lasts until they go back to the car, and then Brittany sneak attacks her with a kiss just as she’s about to climb into the driver’s seat and she tries to push her away, Brittany letting her and looking well pleased with herself.

+

They pull into the gas station across the way just to top the tank up because there’s no way they’re running out of gas in the mountains, and Brittany unclips her belt and slides out of her seat in one graceful movement with a bright, “My turn!” 

Santana yawns behind her hand and waits for her to finish, watching her out of her wing mirror with a faint smile on her face, amazed at how she can make something as mundane as pumping gas look sexy. 

It’s no wonder she fell in love with Brittany. She never stood a chance.

She’s just winding the window down to ask her to grab her a cup of coffee from inside the store, when she hears the guy start to catcall from the next pump over, saying something she doesn’t catch but that’s clearly aimed at Brittany, and she narrows her eyes and peers through the window, trying to find him.

He says something again and Brittany glances at him before angling her body away, and Santana hopes he’ll get the hint. She can feel herself getting angry, bubbling low in her belly, and she wants to lean out of the window and tell him to stop hitting on her girlfriend.

She also wants him to leave them alone, and that might not be the best way to go about it.

Brittany glances through the window at her and rolls her eyes, a look that says _can you believe this guy?_ and Santana shakes her head back because no she can’t. 

Brittany’s almost done when the guy takes a couple of steps towards her and Santana is three seconds away from leaning out the window when Brittany suddenly reaches for her hand and pulls the simple silver ring her abuela gave her when she turned sixteen off her finger. 

“Sorry,” Brittany calls, holding up her left hand, sun glinting off the ring. “I’m married.”

The word makes Santana shiver a little, like it’s important.

“Well I don’t mind if you don’t.” The guy throws back, leaning against his truck with what he thinks is probably a winning smile. Santana feels the irrational need to get out of the car and smack him in the face.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Brittany asks, pointing inside the store where a college age guy is buying some cigarettes from the clerk. He’s pretty beefy looking, and Santana can see why Brittany pointed him out at once; he looks like he could kick this guy’s ass twice over without breaking a sweat.

A tiny part of her wonders if she could too.

“Uh, never mind,” the man says quickly, face going pale as Brittany smiles brightly, like she’s waiting for him to say something else. He just turns and heads for the store wordlessly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he stops suddenly. “Y’all have a nice day,” he says without turning to face them, in this nervous voice that Santana finds absolutely hilarious for no reason at all. 

When he gets to the doorway, Brittany’s fake husband is coming the other way, and the guy actually steps aside to let him go through the doors first.

Santana looks over at Brittany, silent for about a second before they both burst out laughing, Brittany leaning against the side of the car to hold herself up.

+

They’re just pulling back onto i-80 when Brittany pulls the ring from her finger and lays it flat on her palm, offering it to Santana across the console. Santana glances at it, eyes mostly on the road as Brittany waits for her to take it.

She feels like there suddenly isn’t enough oxygen in the car, and she sucks in a ragged breath, hoping Brittany can’t hear it catch in her throat.

“San, your ring,” Brittany says after a moment, when the silence stretches, wiggling her fingers a little for emphasis.

It’s not just her ring any more, somehow, but she doesn’t know how to explain that to Brittany.

She swallows hard, throat suddenly struggling to work. What had been funny at the gas station has suddenly turned serious in the car, and she fixes her eyes on the road, deliberately avoiding glancing at Brittany. 

“You could—you could keep that if you wanted to,” she says slowly, wondering where the words came from and what made her say them. She doesn’t correct herself though, just waits, the silence stretching as she wonders what it’d mean if Brittany took her at her word.

She kind of wants her to call her bluff, just to see. 

Brittany doesn’t say anything, and Santana can’t force herself to look over at her. They cover another mile in silence, until Brittany puts the ring into the cupholder under the radio carefully, and then reaches across to tangle the fingers of her left hand with the fingers of Santana’s right, fingers sliding into the gaps like they always do but feeling too tight somehow, too restricting.

“It’s your grandmother’s ring,” Brittany says softly, rubbing her thumb into the space between Santana’s knuckles in that way that always calms her down.

Santana kind of wants to pull away.

“Oh,” Santana says, voice higher than usual. “Okay.” 

She keeps her eyes on the road.

+

It’s seven hours to Salt Lake, only it feels more like a hundred, and she gets more and more upset the longer she thinks about the ring and Brittany handing it back like it means nothing.

She forgets the part about how it had meant nothing, just ten minutes before.

She sort of knows that she’s being irrational but she can’t seem to make the thought stick, no matter how many times she thinks it, and she feels her stomach churn the longer she thinks about what happened, from the guy to the ring and back again, wondering what made Brittany say it in the first place.

For the third time in her life she feels like she isn’t good enough, and she answers the few questions Brittany asks her in gruff, terse sentences because she can’t bring herself to say anything else, until Brittany turns to stare at her, wondering what’s wrong.

Santana keeps her eyes on the road and turns the music up, until Brittany gives up shifts round to look out the window instead, frown tugging at her features.

She’s getting better at asking for what she wants but she doesn’t know how to ask for this.

+

She’s starting to think that the mountains are worse than the fucking fields.

+

She thinks that Brittany nods off again as they’re crossing Wyoming, but she doesn’t mind, content enough to be alone with her thoughts as they pass town after town, wondering where all the cities went. 

It seems to go on forever, the same way Iowa went on forever, and she keeps glancing at her GPS, wondering why the time remaining doesn’t seem to be going down as fast as she’d like. 

They’re nearly at the border and into Utah when she gets to the tunnel at Evanston and she thinks she must make some kind of noise because Brittany wakes up with a sleepy sounding, “What’s wrong?” and then sits up a little straighter in her seat as she takes in the rapidly approaching hole in the mountain in front of them. 

Brittany whistles out a breath, low and impressed sounding, and Santana’s glad she does because she thinks it covers the whimper she makes in the back of her throat. 

“I wonder how long it goes on for?” Brittany asks, and Santana can hear the excitement in her voice, wondering at how the hell it got there.

“Too long,” Santana mutters under her breath and waits for it to swallow them whole.

+

Brittany reaches for her hand when they’ve been inside for a minute or so, glancing at her with soft eyes and the kind of expression that mean she’s being stupid as she laces their fingers together.

Brittany squeezes her hand and Santana squeezes back, and it’s not until they’re out the other side that Santana remembers about the ring, and then she lets go, bring her hand back up to grip the wheel as the road starts to curve away from them.

\+ 

There is something worse than mountains and fields and tunnels as it turns out, and that thing is canyons.

She’s never driven anywhere like this before and Brittany’s jaw drops next to her as she reaches for her camera and twists the lens cap off quickly. She follows the bends in the road carefully, slowing down more than she probably needs to as she swallows nervously, hearing Brittany gasp as they turn corners and reveal some new rock formation, pretty in a weird sort of way.

Brittany keeps taking pictures as Santana gets more and more anxious, feeling her stomach drop every time the road twists, and she wants to ask Brittany to stop because even though she doesn’t have the flash on the sound is distracting, and she does not need to be distracted right now.

She feels like she should be dizzy with the way the round turns, and she doesn’t feel like they’re going in the same direction they were a moment ago, like the road’s turned them round so completely that they’re no longer west but heading south or maybe back east instead.

She glances at her GPS more than once, even though the rational part of her brain knows there’s no way they could have been turned around because they’re still on i-80 west, no matter how many times it twists.

Brittany drops the lens cap she’s been holding into the cupholder along with her ring, and the noise jolts her from her thoughts. Santana squeezes her hands around the steering wheel, so hard that her knuckles turn white, as she swallows the words that try to force their way out.

+

“Ow, Jesus,” Santana mutters through gritted teeth. It feels like her ears are trying to remove themselves from her skull, like there’s all the pressure in the world bearing down on them, and she opens and closes her jaw hoping it will help.

Brittany turns to look at her and reache into her pocket to pull out a packet of gum, plucking a stick from the shredded paper and offering to Santana across the console wordlessly.

Santana doesn’t want to take it, but her ears give a sharp throb, and she figures she should take the hint.

She doesn’t say thank you, and Brittany looks at her for a long moment before she goes back to taking pictures.

+

As if canyons and tunnels and mountains weren’t bad enough they drive through a stretch of road covered with construction, so that they have to slow down and inch along behind the other cars, praying that it will end.

Brittany peers out the window like there’s something worth looking at, but Santana keeps her eyes on the road, feeling what’s left of her patience rapidly start to run out.

+

She sees the deer jump out into the road in her rearview mirror, and keeps stealing glances, watching the car behind her slam on its breaks and narrowly avoid missing it. She had no idea she had to add deer onto the list of hazards and she wonders briefly why they ever thought driving to California was a good idea.

She feels like her heart is in her throat every time they round a corner, and she hates the fluttery anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach, the way her breathing is just a little too shallow so it never feels like she’s getting enough air.

“I think we’re nearly out the other side,” Brittany says, like that’ll calm her down and Santana just nods and concentrates on the road.

+

She never thought she’d be so happy to see fields again, and she breathes out a sigh of relief as everything starts to turn a little bit greener, the mountains off in the distance suddenly looking a lot prettier now she knows she doesn’t have to drive through them.

+

She follows her GPS to the motel with really seeing anything, just glad that they’ve found a city at last and a road that behaves the way a road should, without construction or deer or tunnels. She keeps hearing Brittany gasp and snap more pictures, but she feels so suddenly tired that she can’t even see anything past the road, all the adrenaline from the canyons leaving her so quickly it feels like she’s gone hollow.

She picked out the motel months ago and she practically has the route memorised anyway, so that it doesn’t feel like long until she’s pulling into the parking lot and turning the engine off, hands still gripping the wheel as tight as they can. 

Brittany looks at her for a full minute before reaching over and pulling her hands away with a little half laugh, like she isn’t sure if that should be funny or not. 

She still can’t bring herself to find something to say, so she pulls the keys from the ignition and reaches for the door handle instead, waiting for Brittany to follow her lead, which she does, after half a second’s delay.

“I’ll get the bags,” she says quietly when Santana remains silent, and Santana nods, waiting for her to follow as she heads for the front desk.

She checks in on autopilot, the motel blurring into the one in Lexington and the one in Davenport, and she’s half sure the man who takes their money has the features of people she’s seen before, like there’s some standard way all motel employees look, only that’s ridiculous and she pushes the thought away. She nods silent confirmation to his questions or shakes her head no, Brittany shifting a little on her feet next to sneaking glances out of the corners of her eyes like she’s starting to realise something’s wrong.

She’s pretty sure she’s been running on adrenaline for the last few hours and now that it’s over she just wants to collapse and sleep for a week, ignoring the ring and college and the rest of the journey they still have to take.

She shakes her head to clear it and takes the key he offers her, heading off in the direction he points without waiting to see if Brittany is following.

“Hey, wait up,” Brittany laughs, and Santana hears her jog to catch up. “Wait!” Brittany says again, reaching for her hand as they climb the stairs, but Santana side steps her, quickening her pace so that they can get to their room.

As soon as the door’s open she drops her bag and flops onto the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She hears Brittany go into the bathroom and closes her eyes against the suddenly too bright fluorescent motel lights.

She wishes the room was dark enough to hide in, dark enough that Brittany would just let her sleep. She pulls her glasses off and drops them onto the little table next to the bed, squeezing her eyes shut again and willing herself to fall asleep.

“Do you want to go out to eat?” Brittany asks when she comes back, sitting at the edge of the bed and reaching a hand out to stroke against her back. 

Santana scrunches herself up smaller and shakes her head. “Not hungry,” she says. She holds herself perfectly still, waiting to see what Brittany will do next..

“Well, wanna come with me to get something?” Brittany says after a moment, hand still warm on her back.

Santana rolls away a little and shakes her head again. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

Brittany’s silent for a long moment and then she says, “Are you okay? Did the mountains freak you out?”

Santana shakes her head again. “I’m just tired,” she says and hopes Brittany will believe it.

“Well you shouldn’t sleep in your clothes,” Brittany says and Santana feels her hand finally move from her back. “I’m gonna go find a vending machine, I’ll be back in a second.”

She hears the door open and close.

+

She’s still in exactly the same position when she comes back, only Santana keeps her eyes shut and pretends to be asleep, and she hears Brittany lock the door and then crunch her way through a bag of whatever she got out of the vending machine, though she doesn’t sit on the bed. 

“San?” she says after Santana’s heard her go into the bathroom and come out again, presumably to change into her sleep clothes though she hasn’t seen her do it. “Are you awake?”

She doesn’t say anything, and after another moment Brittany turns out the light and crawls into bed next to her. She doesn’t kiss her or hug her or try to touch her in any way, and Santana lies awake for a long time after she hears Brittany’s breathing even out, wondering what’s she’s done.

+

She wakes up to sun streaming through the blinds and the dull ache of hunger in her stomach, and she rolls onto her back and stretches, trying to get the kinks out from sleeping screwed up in a ball. It takes her a moment to realise she’s alone in the bed, and then she opens her eyes and blinks a couple of times, wondering where Brittany could be.

She rubs the sleep from her eyes and climbs out of bed, climbing to her feet slowly and stretching again as she reaches her full height, rolling her shoulders out until she feels like they’re about to pop.

“Britt?” she calls, expecting an answer from the bathroom, and when she doesn’t get one she blinks and crosses the room quickly, her stomach tightening at the sight of the open bathroom door.

Brittany isn’t there, and she turns back to the bed stupidly, like she might be there even though she wasn’t a moment before.

She isn’t.

She spins slowly, eyes taking in every surface, the panic rising up her throat until she feels like she wants to scream. She swallows it back and bites her lip, so hard she’s sure she’s going to draw blood, and it takes her brain a long time to catch on to what her eyes are telling her.

Brittany isn’t there.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s suddenly very aware of just how far from home they are and it makes her feel tiny, the same way some people’s shocked glances when she’d crossed the stage at graduation made her feel tiny, like she doesn’t want people to see her and she just needs to hide away.

The city is a lot bigger than she thought it would be.

Or maybe that’s just the effect they get after so long in the mountains because she’s not even sure if they’re in the city proper yet. There are buildings on both sides of the road, and busy intersections and actual people, which automatically makes it more like civilisation than the canyons and mountains, and even Santana relaxes a little next to her though she’s still staring straight ahead and gripping the wheel tighter than she really needs to.

Brittany thinks the mountains freaked her out, because Santana hates it when she feels like she’s not in control, and she reaches over to lay a hand on her knee as they head further south, blinking a little in confusion when Santana starts and jerks her leg away.

“San?” she asks, hand hovering between them like it doesn’t really know what to do.

“Cramp,” Santana mumbles out of the side of her mouth, only it doesn’t sound quite like it’s true, but then she kicks her leg out a little like she’s trying to stretch out the muscle and Brittany thinks maybe she meant it after all.

The buildings and the people all seems weirdly beautiful after so long on winding mountain roads that seem like they’ll never end, and she snaps a few photos as they go, the mountains hanging over everything in the distance like a warning.

She thinks absently if that’s maybe what all that stuff about symbolism and, like, it raining in books when people are sad meant in English class and then wonders where the thought came from.

Santana still isn’t looking at anything but the road, so Brittany snaps a couple of pictures of her driving, just because, squinting down at the screen a little when she notices the way Santana’s features are drawn into a frown. She rubs her finger against the screen like she’s trying to smooth the creases away and wishes she could do it for real, wishes that Santana would never look that way again and she’d just grin her goofy _I’m so in love_ smile and crack a joke instead.

She hates the mountains, just a little bit, for taking that Santana away.

She makes a note to try to wipe the look off of Santana’s face when they get to the hotel and stares down at the picture a little longer, trying to decide where would be the best place to start.

+

Santana takes them to a pretty nice hotel just off the freeway, and she sits completely still in her seat for a whole minute after she’s killed the engine, still gripping the wheel.

She knows Santana gets stuck on feelings sometimes, the same way that she gets stuck on words and what they mean when no one else really cares, and she lets Santana blink and breathe for a second before she reaches over and tugs her hands off the wheel gently, rubbing her thumb between her knuckles as Santana turns to look at her. She looks so confused for a second that Brittany wants to laugh only it dies a little in her throat when Santana blinks and pulls away to climb out of the car without saying a word.

She exhales heavily into the empty car and then reaches for the door handle to follow her, trying to swallow the irritation bubbling up in the back of her throat. “I’ll get the bags,” she says, just to stop herself from grabbing Santana and shaking her until she snaps out of it, and Santana just nods before heading for the front desk.

Santana takes care of checking in while Brittany stands slightly behind her, pulling her overnight bag higher on her shoulder when it slides down and keeping her eyes on Santana the whole time, wondering why her mood didn’t disappear as soon as they left the mountains instead of staying with her, hovering over them like a raincloud.

Santana doesn’t even wait to see if she’s following before she takes the key and heads in the direction the concierge points them in, and Brittany stares at her for a moment before hurrying to catch her. “Hey, wait up,” she says, almost laughing in disbelief as she covers the space between them quickly. “Wait!”

She’s definitely not imagining it when Santana shrugs away from her touch, and she pulls her own hand back like she’s been burnt, following Santana at more of a safe distance as she carries on like nothing happened.

She hasn’t seen Santana like this for a long while, not since lockers and hallways and words said that can’t be taken back, and she doesn’t understand how something as stupid as a road is making her act this way. She wasn’t like this after her abuela, or after the campaign commercial that nearly ruined everything; she’d spent both nights sobbing in Brittany’s arms and telling her everything instead of hiding and pretending she was going through it alone, so she doesn’t understand how a mountain is making her act like she’s the only one in this hallway.

She doesn’t understand why Santana won’t even look at her, like Brittany was the one who put the mountains there all those years ago, just to make Santana scared today.

Santana opens the door to their room quickly and doesn’t bother to turn the light on when she steps inside, just climbs up onto the bed and rolls onto her side, her back to Brittany as she pulls her knees up to her chest. Brittany drops the bags and kicks the door shut behind her, eyeing Santana for a minute before crossing the room to the bathroom and flicking the light on. She watches Santana flinch from the sudden brightness.

She wouldn’t normally bother, but she shuts the connecting door and stares at it for a second, weirdly glad for the privacy. She feels a twinge of guilt and pushes it away, because one of the promises that always hung unsaid between them is that they wouldn’t ever put up walls again, and she stares at herself in the mirror and runs a hand through her hair, peeling it away from the back of her neck in the sticky summer heat. She runs the water in the sink until it’s cold, splashing it on her face as she runs a hand over her eyes a little harder than she needs to, taking a moment to let the frustration ebb out of her as the water dries on her skin.

The thing is, she knows Santana is probably going to be okay in the morning. She’s always cared too quickly and too much ever since they were little, bearing grudges against kids who hurt one or both of them at recess for a couple of days and forgetting about it by the end of the week, but this isn’t elementary school, and Brittany doesn’t know what hurt her, and somehow it seems like a grudge against a mountain should be the kind of thing that lasts, just like the mountain itself.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to breathe out the way she feels and let it drift away. There’s no breeze in their room, none outside either, and she feels it hang in the air, like it doesn’t want to leave just yet. She wonders if Santana will be able to feel it, in the other room.

She takes a moment to collect herself before she reaches for the door handle and pushes it open, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light coming through the shades as she shuts off the bathroom light behind her. Santana is still where she left her, only her legs aren’t drawn up quite so tight anymore, and Brittany sinks down on the bed behind her, watching as the bed dips under her weight and Santana slides towards her a little, even though she’s obviously still trying to hold herself apart.

Brittany reaches for her slowly, like she might startle, even though she can’t see her coming. She presses just her fingertips to her back and waits, wondering if Santana will pull away. When she doesn’t, she moves her fingers slowly, until her palm is flat against Santana’s spine in the small of her back, and she isn’t sure if she’s imagining it or not but it feels like Santana leans into her touch so she keeps her hand there, holding it still like if she does Santana will forget it’s there, hiding in plain sight.

“Do you want to go out to eat?” Brittany asks softly, moving the tips of her fingers in tiny circles against Santana’s shirt and she feels Santana shake her head just the tiniest bit.

“Not hungry,” Santana mumbles, but at least she’s talking and Brittany rubs a little more, thinking maybe she’s found the secret to unlocking whatever it is that keeps Santana’s bad mood inside of her and it’s starting to escape.

She feels Santana still under touch, almost like she’s shocked at the sound of her own voice.

“Well, wanna come with me to get something?” Brittany asks, and she can see the moment she’s pushed too much just as it creeps up on them and Santana rolls away a little, so she’s half on her stomach and less on her side. Brittany’s hand hovers between them, unsure at the sudden loss of contact, before following Santana and settling against her back again.

“I’m tired, I’m going to sleep,” Santana says shortly, and Brittany feels a twinge of something go through her chest, and it’s only then that she realises how scared Santana actually is. It reminds her of the last time that Santana has refused to go somewhere with her, of text messages and songbirds and apologies sent at 2am, and Brittany presses a hand to her chest like she’s trying to stop the feeling from escaping.

She takes a breath and hates the way it sounds a little ragged in her throat. “Are you okay?” She asks desperately, suddenly needed to hear her answer. “Did the mountains freak you out?”

“I’m just tired,” Santana replies quickly, and there’s something about the way she says it that sounds weird, like her inflection isn’t quite right.

Brittany feels tears at the corners of her eyes and blinks them away, suddenly needing to not be here. “Well you shouldn’t sleep in your clothes,” she says, desperate for something to say. She pulls her hand back from Santana quickly and stands, turning away without a second glance. “I’m gonna go find a vending machine,” she swallows to stop her voice breaking on the next words. “I’ll be back in a second.”

She still thinks she needs to say that because she isn’t sure if Santana knows it, all of a sudden.

She scoops the key off the desk where Santana dropped it without waiting for a response, and steps out into the hallway before the first tears fall, letting the door slam shut behind her.

+

She heads back the way they came up, because she remembers catching sight of a vending machine with brightly coloured packets of chips and candy in it, and though she isn’t even sure that she wants food anymore she retraces her steps until she finds it in a little alcove, set back from the doors to the other rooms. She stares at the lurid packaging without really seeing it, and she slides a hand down the machine slowly, until she’s leaning forward to rest her head against the cool glass, taking deep breaths as she fights the tears threatening to spill over.

She hasn’t felt this way for so long that she almost doesn’t recognise the emotions, frustration and hurt merging together until she doesn’t know which one is strongest, just knows that she thought she wouldn’t ever feel this way again, and especially not because of Santana.

She realises how silly that thought is the second it crosses her mind, because Santana was always the only one who could ever make her feel this way, and no-one else has ever come close. She always knew that meant something big and important, but it still doesn’t stop it hurting right now, or all those times before.

She rubs her hand over her face and tries to calm down, because this isn’t helping, and she knows everything will be fine in the morning, everything _has_ to be fine in the morning, because they’re in Salt Lake and they’re going to California, and Brittany didn’t realise quite how scary that was until this very moment, when all she wants to do is reach out and grab Santana and bury her face in the space between her neck and shoulder and can’t.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handful of change, staring at the coins until they start to make sense and she can pluck out quarters and dimes and push them into the machine, sure she’s putting too much money in and pressing buttons at random until a bag of chips drops into the bottom and she reaches in to pull it out and look at what she’s chosen, laughing a little without any humour in it when she sees the colour.

She doesn’t even like salt and vinegar chips.

(Santana does.)

She looks through her money again and figures she has enough to get something cheese flavoured and devoid of any nutritional value, and feeds the machine coins again, fingers dancing over the button as she makes her choice. She takes both bags back to their room, clutching them a little harder than she maybe needs to, balancing them in the crook of her arm while she pushes the keycard into the slot and waits for the light to turn green.

It takes her a couple of tries before she gets it to work, and she steadies herself before walking back through the door. Her eyes immediately go to Santana, the way she’s still in exactly the same place she left her, her knees back up closer to her chest as she holds herself stiff and still, too much tension in her muscles for her to be asleep, although Santana must think she has her fooled because she doesn’t say anything, just stays still and curled up in the darkness.

She sits down on the rickety chair by the desk and eats her chips in silence, without really tasting them, washing it down with the bottled water they’d brought in from the car earlier. It’s like chewing cardboard, and she doesn’t finish the bag, just tosses it onto the desk next to the bag of salt and vinegar and swallows more water, trying to rid herself of the taste.

She pulls her sleep shirt and shorts out of her overnight bag and scrambles into them in the bathroom, pausing a second before she shuts the door and peers through the gap until Santana disappears from view. She brushes her teeth steadily but even the mint tastes bitter somehow, until she’s spitting the foam from her mouth and swirling a mouthful of water around again.

She opens the door and pauses, looking at Santana in the light from the bathroom, still unmoving and hard where she left her. “San?” she says, the word almost catching in her throat. She swallows but the next words still come out as a sort of strangled whisper, “Are you awake?”

Santana doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. Brittany squeezes her hands into fists at her sides, if only to stop herself from crossing the room and shaking Santana until she says something, even if she tells her to stop.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out, and she doesn’t think she could find the words to say what she means anyway, so she just reaches for the light switch and climbs into bed, feeling an irrational surge of satisfaction when she doesn’t touch Santana at all, just lies on her back and stares at the ceiling, breathing into the darkness.

Santana still isn’t asleep, still too carefully arranged and stiff, her limbs not heavy and relaxed the way they usually are when she’s in Brittany’s arms and blinking sleepily, pressing clumsy kisses to the underside of her chin and sliding towards unconsciousness.

She wonders briefly if maybe that’s why she can’t fall asleep, because they’re not curled up together the way they’re supposed to be.

She shifts her head around on the pillow until she’s staring at Santana’s back, at her impossibly dark hair on the pillow, and wants to reach out and run her fingers through it. She wants to wrap her arms around Santana and pull her into the crook of her body, holding her safe until whatever it is that scares her leaves them alone, until she’s kissed all the worry lines from her forehead and she’s smiling at her again.

Her last thought before she falls asleep is of Santana crying in the dark, and just before she reaches her to pull her into a hug the floor drops out from under her and she’s falling, falling until—

+

Brittany wakes up right on the edge of the bed, and it takes her a moment to remember where she is, and then she’s rolling over and searching for Santana frantically before she even knows what she’s doing, breathing out a sigh of relief when she finds her in exactly the same position as the night before, still wearing her clothes, her whole body loose in sleep the way it hadn’t been the night before.

She reaches out and touches her back lightly, barely tracing the shape of her through her shirt, not wanting to wake her up in case she’s still going to behave the way she did the night before. She eases herself out of bed slowly, checking every couple of inches to make sure she hasn’t disturbed Santana, but she breathes on, slow and deep, unaware that Brittany is moving at all.

The night before seems far away, suddenly, in the light filtering through the shades, like a bad dream fading as soon as you wake. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and glances down at Santana again, watching her back rise and fall as she breathes, and resists the urge to reach out for her again.

Just because the dream faded for her doesn’t mean it did for Santana. Her mom always told her you shouldn’t wake someone from a bad dream because then they get stuck in it for the rest of the day, and she doesn’t want that to happen to Santana, so.

She stretches herself up to her full height when she gets to her feet, reaching her arms up until she feels her shoulder start to pop and drops them down again as she exhales noisily, cutting off the sigh suddenly when she remembers Santana is still asleep. She scoops her shorts off the floor and pulls her phone out of the pocket to check the time, swallowing a yawn when she sees that it’s 8.30am, like just seeing the numbers makes her tired somehow, even though she doesn’t really feel sleepy anymore.

Her stomach growls when she sees the packets of chips still lying on the desk, but she can’t bring herself to eat them, and she wonders if there’s anywhere that she could get food nearby. She gets dressed quickly, stepping into clean underwear before tugging her shorts up her legs and reaching for the deodorant in her bag.

She should really shower away the dirt and the road from the day before, but she thinks she might be able to make it down to the front desk to ask about food and make it back before Santana wakes, and her stomach growls again, like it’s agreeing with her plan. She realises Santana’s probably hungry too and that food could be a pretty good peace offering—even if she’s not entirely sure she needs to make one—but she doesn’t want to not be there if she wakes up, pretty sure that would be the worst thing after last night, and she searches through her bag for a scrap of paper or anything to scrawl a note on and let her know where she is.

She comes up empty and settles for propping the bag of chips up against Santana’s glasses on the table next to her, before she notices Santana’s phone leaning against the base of the lamp and almost smacks her hand against her head when she realises she can just text Santana and delete the message if she’s back before she gets up.

For no reason as at all, she thinks of those romantic comedies they’d watched together over the years and all the times Santana had admonished the characters for not picking up the phone to call or text their boyfriends and girlfriends when the crazy stuff had started happened, just so they knew nothing was wrong. Santana always hated those movies.

She pulls her own phone out of her pocket and taps her fingers against the screen quickly, waiting until Santana’s phone vibrates against the table so she knows the message sent. She stares down at Santana for a second before she goes, and can’t stop herself from leaning down to ghost a kiss against her forehead and brush some of the hair from her eyes, and hates to tear herself away when the corner of Santana’s mouth crooks up into a smile and she tries to move closer, even though Brittany is no longer there.

Her stomach growls again, and she pulls herself away, sneaking one last glance at her before she pulls her sweatshirt off the back of the chair by the desk and tries to shut the door quietly behind her.

+

There’s a guy at the front desk who is far too cheery for this time in the morning, and Brittany smiles at him politely when he asks if there’s anything he can do to help.

“I was just wondering if there’s somewhere I could get food,” Brittany says, toying with the hem of her shorts. “Somewhere close by? We got in late last night and didn’t eat anything before we went to sleep.”

She watches him slide his eyes to the side like he’s thinking, before his grin widens a little. “There’s a Macdonalds at the Gateway,” he says, and reels off the address and which way she should go. “There’s a Jamba Juice down that way too.”

She thanks him and pulls her phone out of her pocket to check the time, but she hasn’t been gone long and judging by the directions he gave her she could totally drive down there and back before Santana wakes up. She casts one glance down the hall to their room before hurrying outside, crossing the parking lot to where Santana left their car the night before, standing all alone in the morning sun.

She fumbles through her pockets in search of the keys, because she swore she swiped them off of the desk along with the keycard, but she goes through each pocket twice, in her shorts and sweatshirt both, before she realises they must be back in the room.

“Shit,” she mumbles under her breath. She slumps head first against the car, already baked warm from the sun, and bumps her palms against the glass, feeling the warmth seep into her skin.

It’s only then that she notices something glinting inside the car in the light and cups her hands together against the glass to block out the sun, so she can see better.

It takes her second to remember it’s Santana’s grandmother’s ring, and she almost kicks herself when everything suddenly snaps into place. She feels like someone just turned all the lights on and she was standing in the dark, and she presses her palm to the glass a little more, like she could reach right through and pluck it out of the cupholder if only she presses hard enough.

“Oh, Santana,” she sighs heavily, and sees the whole thing again in reverse, starting with Santana curled up on the bed and ending when she dropped the ring into the cupholder carelessly, when Santana hadn’t wanted to take it back.

“Shit,” she mumbles again, chewing on her lip as she glances back towards the hotel before she reaches into her pocket for her phone. She dials the number quickly, shifting nervously as she waits for him to pick up.

“Britt?” his voice is hoarse with sleep, and she suddenly remembers the fact that they’re in two different time zones. It takes her a second to work out that it’s two hours later for him, and she would roll her eyes at the fact that he’s still asleep if this wasn’t so serious. “Ugh, what time is it?”

“What would you have done if Tina had given you your ring back?” Brittany says all in a rush, because she figures she might as well ask him now she called and woke him up, tripping over the words a little in her anxiousness. “Because I think I made Santana think I didn’t want to marry her.” She presses a hand to her mouth to muffle the weird laugh that bubbles up her throat, aware suddenly of how funny that sounds when she says it out loud.

There’s silence for a long moment before he speaks, and his voice still sounds rough with sleep. “Britt? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Yesterday, I borrowed her ring and when I tried to give it back she said I should keep it and then I put it in the cupholder when she wouldn’t take it,” Brittany explains, growing a little more frantic with every word. “If Tina had done that to you would you have freaked out?”

“No,” Mike says quickly, and she hears a sigh as he rustles around in his bed, trying to get more comfortable. “Because I’m not a crazy person.”

“She’s not a crazy person either, Mike,” Brittany says immediately. “She’s just...”

“Santana,” Mike replies quickly. “I know. Look, it’s still early what do you want from me?”

“It’s 11am,” Brittany puts in quickly, after she works it out. “It’s 9am here.”

Mike is silent for just a second before he goes on, ignoring her. “You wanted to marry that girl since you gave her that ring pop when you were six years old. I remember, okay? I was there. And if she thinks you don’t then she’s even more ridiculous than I thought.”

“You remember that?” Brittany feels herself blush, smile tugging at her lips as she remembers handing Santana the candy at recess and then the way they’d stolen licks of it together, until their mouths were sticky and red with it, matching clown smiles on their faces.

“Just go and get married and leave me alone,” Mike grumbles and Brittany laughs because suddenly everything really is as simple as that, “I want to go back to sleep.” She hears him yawn, “Where the hell are you anyway?”

“Utah,” Brittany replies through a grin, amazed at how light everything suddenly feels.

“I don’t think you can get married there,” Mike says seriously, as if they really were going to run off and get married, just because he suggested it.

“It’s a good thing we don’t have to get married yet then,” Brittany says with a laugh, because if she thinks about the fact that their marriage might be State-dependent at some unspecified point in the future she’ll lose the good mood she’s found.

“Just make sure to send me an invite,” Mike says through another yawn. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“I guess,” Brittany says, to both parts, and hears him laugh. “Thanks, Mikey.”

“Any time,” he yawns again. “Except maybe not while I’m asleep next time.”

“Deal,” Brittany says as he mumbles a goodbye and the line goes dead, and she smiles to herself for a moment before her eyes settle on the ring again.

She wants to go back to their room and kiss Santana back to wakefulness, she wants to wrap herself around her until she looks at her and laughs in that way that means everything is okay again, but her stomach gives a growl as if to remind her that she’s still hungry and she knows Santana will be too.

She feels a little bit more like she should go and get a peace offering now, even though she’s still not entirely sure if she needs to.

The guy behind the desk said the food wasn’t far, only a couple blocks away, and she glances back at the ring one more time before she pushes herself back off the car and spins in the direction he pointed her, footsteps quick and sure as she breaks into a jog and glances at the street signs, hoping she’s going the right way.

+

She hasn’t gone very far at all when she hits this quaint little row of shops, all tiny and bearing family names over the doors. She slows down a little as she passes and peers around her, wondering if she could be lucky enough to find a coffee shop or something even though the concierge at the hotel didn’t say there were any.

Santana probably would have liked coffee. She can’t believe she forgot to ask.

She isn’t looking for it, but she sees it anyway, her eyes drawn to the sun glinting off the metals on display in the window, at the gold and silver flashing up at her, and she comes to a stop as her eyes slide over the whole window display, sure it’s suddenly important. It takes her a second to realise she has her face pressed to the glass, her hands hovering just short of touching it as she peers down at the rings slotted into the cushioned cases, and she swallows against the sudden dryness in her throat.

It’s stupid, because she’s never more than given a cursory glance to all the window displays like these back in Lima, but there’s something about the fact that they’re far from home and all alone that makes her stop and look at the rings, wondering what made Santana refuse to take back hers the day before.

It’s stupid, because she’s not going to walk in there and buy a ring and take it back to the hotel and go down on one knee. It’s not even legal here, or back home, or where they’re going, and she doesn’t need a piece of paper with a government stamp on it to prove what she’s known all along anyway. She’s always known she was going to marry Santana some day, and she doesn’t need a ring to prove that right now, even if Santana thinks they do.

It’s stupid, because she’s still looking, even though she wants to walk away.

There’s a sales assistant moving some of the display around, and she sees Brittany through the window and smiles up at her, hardly older than Brittany is herself. Brittany smiles back shyly, dropping her hands to her sides self-consciously when she realises they’re still hovering near the glass. The girl flutters her fingers like she’s beckoning her closer, and Brittany doesn’t feel like she has any choice but to go in, pushing the door open and hearing the chime of a bell as it opens.

It’s much cooler inside the shop than in the morning sun, and Brittany lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, never more grateful for air conditioning that she has been in this moment.

“Morning!” The girl says brightly. “I saw you standing out there, do you wanna take a look around?” She stands to attention like she’s waiting for some sort of signal, back straight as she looks at her, and Brittany almost takes a step backwards before she can help herself.

“I-I was just looking at the rings in the window,” Brittany stutters awkwardly, already wanting to leave despite the air conditioning, but the girl’s eyes light up at the word ‘ring’ and her smile somehow grows even brighter. She kind of reminds Brittany of Rachel Berry, but worse, and the thought alone is enough to make her want to leave and never come back.

“Wishing that special someone would propose?” the assistant grins again, and ushers Brittany towards one of the displays on the walls before leaning in, voice hushed, “These are our more... economical rings,” she says conspiratorially. “My Joe got me one of these,” she suddenly pushes her left hand under Brittany’s nose, and she blinks at it for a second before it withdraws, “Because he’s just working in his father’s garage right now and you know how that is.”

She trills out a laugh, and Brittany actually stares in disbelief, wondering if all her friends are about to Punk her, and the girl is going to pull off a mask and reveal Rachel underneath.

She can feel her mouth actually hang open for a second before she realises the girl is staring at her expectantly and then she forces herself to say, “It’s beautiful,” and watches her preen a little, the index finger of her right hand playing over the gold band and tiny diamond on the ring finger of her left.

“What about you?” She asks and Brittany’s mind stalls for a second to catch up to the conversation, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the girl’s smile.

“We’re on our way to California for college,” Brittany says after a moment, “So...”

“You’ll probably want to stick to this range then,” the girl says without missing a beat, gripping her elbow and smiling encouragingly. “I’ll leave you to browse while I just put these things away,” she indicates the remnants of whatever she was doing to the window display and Brittany nods dumbly and glances back towards the rings, already wondering how long she has to stand here before she can leave.

“My name’s Meghan,” the girl adds over her shoulder, when she reaches to pluck the empty tray from the window. “Call if you need me!”

She doesn’t even really see the rings in front of her, because even if she was going to buy Santana a ring today it wouldn’t be one of these. It’s not because they’re cheap—even the cheapest is out of Brittany’s price range right now, and she always had this dream of them starving and poor at college, auditioning for jobs and wearing tacky plastic cereal box rings on their fingers—but because she realises, staring at them, that they don’t have to do what anyone expects of them. They don’t even have to get rings at all if they don’t want to, because a little strip of metal can’t make her love Santana any more than she already does.

(She thinks they probably will though, because Santana’s old fashioned like that, and the thought sends a little flush through her.)

She reaches out and traces her index fingers over one of the rings on a whim, the only one that caught her eye, just as Meghan appears at her elbow again. “Ooh that one’s pretty!” she says, and Brittany almost jumps in shock.

“Jesus,” she mutters under her breath and watches Meghan’s eyes narrow quickly, the smile falling from her face.

“Did you want to try that on?” her voice has lost a little of its sparkle and Brittany shakes her head quickly, her hand falling away to toy with the hem of her shorts.

“You can if you want to,” she says, and reaches for it herself, plucking it off of the pillow and offering it to Brittany on her hand. She smiles again, only not quite as bright as before and Brittany takes the ring and slips it on just so she doesn’t have to refuse her again.

It’s a little small, and she twists it round her finger with a wince, making sure she’ll still be able to remove it. She feels constricted all of a sudden, the ring tight around her finger as Meghan looks at her, and she wants nothing more than to pull it off.

“It’s pretty,” Meghan says again, although she doesn’t sound like she means it. “You should bring your boyfriend with you so he can see it. I showed Joe the ones I liked before he chose which one to buy,” she glances down at the ring on her finger and back up at her again, almost like she’s sizing her up.

“What did you say your boyfriend’s name was?” Meghan asks, and now her expression is curious with an edge of something else, something hard, lurking in her eyes.

She doesn’t look much like Rachel Berry any more.

Brittany opens her mouth and then shuts it again abruptly, because she’s suddenly realised why the girl is looking at her like that. She forgets sometimes that other people get stuck on words too, only they don’t get stuck quite the same way that she does.

She twists the ring of her finger and offers it back to Meghan. It hovers between them for a moment. “Her name is Santana,” she says softly, and she can’t stop the note of pride creeping into her voice, the happiness she feels whenever she gets to reveal to someone that Santana is hers, even if that person doesn’t understand or even know Santana at all.

Meghan’s face gets hard, and Brittany can almost see the moment her walls come up, like she’s under attack and trying to keep Brittany out. “Her name?” She asks, almost to herself, and Brittany can’t resist nodding.

“My girlfriend’s name is Santana,” it comes out overly loud in the sudden silence of the shop and hangs between them for a second in the air.

Meghan suddenly blinks and snatches the ring back so that she can slip it into the case again, where it belongs. “That ring doesn’t fit,” she says, but Brittany knows that what she really means is that none of the rings do.

(She gets stuck on words sometimes.)

“I think—” Meghan says, then breaks off to look at her again for a second, almost like she’s readying herself for a fight. “I think you should leave. We don’t have— We don’t sell—”

“Yeah,” Brittany says, taking three quick steps towards the door, feeling her heart tighten in her chest painfully. “Yeah.”

+

She starts walking as soon as she gets outside, aware enough of her surroundings to make sure she’s heading in the direction she’s supposed to before she stares down at her feet and finds comfort in the way they move, one in front of the other over and over, forward momentum she thinks she needs right now just so she doesn’t run back to the hotel.

She doesn’t know why it hurts as much as it does, because she grew up in Ohio and went to a high school where pelting kids who showed any sign of difference with slushies was the main form of entertainment. Sometimes, she’s still not sure how she made it out without being slushied herself, and she remembers the couple of times she had to wash red dye number six off of Santana’s forehead and out of her hair and shivers despite the heat of the morning.

She doesn’t understand why the girl back at the store looked at her the way she did, why she hated her the way she did, when all she did was tell the truth. She remembers her mom telling her when she was little that no-one would hate you for telling the truth, but then she thinks of Santana all through high school and knows that isn’t true, because Santana told the truth to everyone and they all thought she was a bitch, and that made her lie about the biggest truth of all just so people wouldn’t hate her for that too.

Thinking of Santana sends a pang through her, and she wishes Santana was here because she would have known what to say to Meghan, even if she would have cried about it afterward, once they were safely back in their hotel room in each other’s arms. That would be okay though, because Brittany would know just how to hold her to make it all better, how to brush the hair away from her eyes and smile against her lips when she kissed the hurt away.

She wishes Santana could kiss this away.

She tries to push her thoughts away but they just come back stronger, like monsters in the sequels to bad horror films, until all she can see is the smile falling from Meghan’s face when she’d said Santana’s name, and all she can hear is the way Meghan had told her the ring didn’t fit. Her vision blurs and she quickens her pace, bumping into someone coming the other way without noticing, mumbling an apology when they ask if she’s okay, and hurrying on because she’s sure, all of a sudden, that everyone here hates them no matter how sincere their concern sounds.

She never really realised before what it was that Santana was terrified of all those years, but she thinks she gets it now.

She only stops walking when she gets to the intersection, and she’s about to turn south when the park across the street catches her eye, and she wipes at her tears with the back of her hand before she crosses the road and heads inside, taking comfort in the shade under the trees. She just needs a minute away from shops and streets and people judging her without knowing her. She just needs a minute to take a breath and hide under the trees, because trees can’t look at her the way the girl back at the store did, and she likes them for that, all of a sudden.

There are a few people nearby, young mothers with younger children sitting on blankets or playing games, but Brittany walks on and ignores them out in the open spaces, sticking to the trees and the quiet shade they provide. She sees groups of teenagers laughing and lying around, little kids charging around playing catch or chasing each other, their mothers shouting at them to be careful, and all she can think is how she doesn’t see anyone like her and Santana, and feels like she’s struggling to breath all of a sudden.

She’s never felt more alone in her life, not even when Santana pushed her away that day at the lockers or when she had to go to junior prom on her own because the one person she wanted to go with was already taken. She’s suddenly very aware of just how far from home they are and it makes her feel tiny, the same way some people’s shocked glances when she’d crossed the stage at graduation made her feel tiny, like she doesn’t want people to see her and she just needs to hide away. It’s not the good kind of tiny she feels when she’s pressed against Santana at night, like they’re the only two people in the world, too big and too small at once, and she presses her hand to her chest and stumbles on, keeping to the shade, sure if she just keeps going it’ll get better somehow.

She comes right to the edge of the trees before she sees the pool and stops suddenly, hoping no one has noticed her and she’s still hidden away. She presses her back into the rough bark of a tree, feeling it press into her skin in a way that hurts in a good way, and shades her eyes with her hand, eyes flitting around from person to person quickly, like she’s trying to decide if they’re a threat.

There are more women with young children, some not all that much older than Brittany herself, a couple with their boyfriends or husbands, she guesses, cooing over babies and toddlers and helping them dangle their feet in the water.

It reminds her of Ashley and she feels a pang, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be at home cuddled up with her and Santana on the couch, watching some animated movie they’re seen a hundred times before. She remembers the summer she and Santana took Ashley to the community pool almost every day, just after she’d learnt how to swim, how Santana had swung her around by her hands while she laughed and caught Brittany’s eye, blushing furiously when Brittany had beamed back at her, for some reason neither of them really understood at the time.

She thinks about them taking another girl to the pool in the future, dark eyed like Santana and blonde haired like her.

She’s pulled from the thought by a loud splash, and when she looks over a young guy has just jumped into the pool fully clothed with a frantic look on his face, arms already outstretched like they’re grabbing for something, while a woman stands at the edge of the pool with her hand pressed to her mouth, eyes wide as she watches. It takes a moment for Brittany to make sense of what’s happening, and then the guy has a young boy in his arms, no more than three or four years old, coughing up water as he cries loudly for his mom. Brittany figures he must have slipped under the water and not been able to stand up again, and she watches as the woman—his mom, she guesses—wraps him up in a towel and cuddles him close as a couple of people nearby flock around her, checking he’s okay. Another guy shakes the first by the hand as the women fuss over the boy, and Brittany watches the whole scene like she’s seeing it on a television, like it’s not real somehow, just because of the distance that separates them.

She’d jump in too, while Santana stood immobile on the edge of pool, her heart in her mouth and her hands pressed to her face, and the thought sends a jolt through her.

There’s still no one like her and Santana at the pool, but it doesn’t matter now, because there’s _her and Santana_ , the only thing she’s wanted since she was aware of wanting anything at all, and even if the people at the pool and the girl back at the store don’t realise that, she knows it and that’s all that matters.

It makes her feel tiny-bad and tiny-good all at once, and she kicks back off the tree and takes a step towards the open area, taking one last look at the people around the pool before she turns and goes back the way she came, determination in every step. She finds her way to where she came in and looks up at the street signs hurriedly, reorienting herself and remembering the directions the concierge gave her back at the hotel. She needs to get food and get back to the hotel as quickly as she can, because she doesn’t care anymore if Santana was freaked out the night before, she just needs to see her and remind herself of everything she has.

She thinks Santana needs to be reminded of that too.

She doesn’t even notice the little shops turning into houses, doesn’t really see the kids playing on lawns and the women who watch them, eerily similar from house to house. She doesn’t care at all if they look at her, if they can see Santana written on her face as plain as the freckles on her nose. She just walks on and on and on, smiling to herself, her steps in time with the thoughts of Santana humming through her mind.

+

She finds the strip mall the concierge told her about easily enough, and takes a couple of steps towards the Macdonalds before she realises how long she’s been gone, and then she pulls her phone out of her pocket quickly, and sure enough it’s after 10.30am so she changes her mind and heads for Chipotle instead, discounting the restaurants she doesn’t know in favour of something familiar.

Just before she puts her phone back in her pocket, she wonders at the fact that Santana still hasn’t called her, and feels twinge of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She hopes she’s just tired from driving the day before, and she pushes the thought away as she steps inside the restaurant, not even bothering to glance up at the menu because they always get the same thing every single time they go to the Chipotle back in Lima and she doesn’t see why they should change now.

She reels off their orders quickly, as familiar as her own name, and fishes around in her pocket for the money to pay, suddenly wondering if she has enough. She does, but she makes a note to go to an ATM before they leave, if only to stop Santana from trying to pay for everything between here and California, even though she knows Brittany hates it.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket again while she waits for their food, checking for messages that aren’t there, before sliding it back in. She wishes their food would hurry up, because she can feel that nervous flutter in her stomach again and suddenly needs to be back at the hotel.

She almost snatches the food out of the guy’s hands when he hands it over, calling a “Thank you!” over her shoulder when she spins and heads for the door, skipping around a couple of kids and the young couple watching over them.

She thinks she can go north up N 500 W to get back to the hotel, instead of going round the block like she did to get here, and she checks the street signs once more before she sets off in that direction, gripping their food in her hands as she hurries along, dodging around the people she encounters and wishing she could go faster.

She just wants to see Santana again and reassure herself that she’s still there. It feels like days since she held her even though it’s only been a few hours, and her feet get faster and faster, until she thinks she’s starting to look like Road Runner from all those old cartoons, her feet a blurring mess beneath her.

She doesn’t care, just picks up speed, until she’s breaking into a jog and then almost running, as fast as she can, every slap of her feet against the pavement carrying her closer to Santana, and back to her arms again.


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She twists the packet in her hands, wondering how far she can push it until it bursts.

She blinks a couple of times, quickly, like her eyes just aren’t working and if she blinks hard enough Brittany will be there, bounding out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and grinning at her for being so worried. She blinks so hard that it stings, and then she presses the palms of her hands into her eyes instead, harder and harder, until her vision swims.

Brittany still isn’t there.

She shifts nervously on the spot, wringing her hands together and trying hard to keep her breathing even, only it feels like her heart is trying to fight its way out of her chest and her lungs aren’t quite working the way they’re supposed to so she ends up gasping for air and pressing her hands against her chest like that’ll help. 

It doesn’t help.

She can feel tears at the corners of her eyes, and her breath catches in her throat when she desperately tries to suck in more air. She stays frozen for another second, feeling the panic bubble up in her stomach, before she forces herself to take a step, and then another, back towards the bed. She sinks down onto the edge of it and reaches for her glasses blindly, and it takes her a second to realise that the thing her hand encounters first of all is a bag of salt and vinegar chips, and then her eyes scrunch up in confusion when she pulls her glasses on and the bag gets a little clearer around the edges.

She’s pretty sure they weren’t there when she fell asleep, and even through her panic she realises that means Brittany must have left them for her. The thought almost calms her, until she realises that it’s proof that Brittany has actually left, and that she knew what she was doing when she went. 

She wonders what the hell Brittany was thinking, to leave her with a bag of chips and no note, like that would make any kind of sense to her, but she still clutches the chips to her like they might provide some sort of answer, and tries to ignore how pathetic she’s sure she looks right now, cradling a bag of chips and holding back tears.

She stares down at the bag and laughs this sort of strangled laugh, like it gets caught in the back of her throat and almost doesn’t come out. 

She twists the packet in her hands, wondering how far she can push it until it bursts.

It’s funny that no matter how far they’ve come she’s still that same terrified sixteen year old, pushing Brittany away instead of talking about how she feels. It’s funny how her first instinct is still to shut down and to push, and how she always thought Brittany would be there, patient and open and pulling her back. It’s funny how a ring that meant absolutely nothing at all suddenly means everything, the difference between Brittany and no Brittany, and how she can’t stop laughing that same broken laugh even though nothing is funny at all. 

It’s her phone vibrating against the table that pulls her from her thoughts, and she jerks in surprise before making a grab for it, suddenly realising that she can just call Brittany or call their friends back home in case Brittany spoke to them before she left, and she actually laughs a little at how stupid she was as she presses her thumb against the button at the bottom and waits for it to light up.

She blinks and presses it a little harder, but it doesn’t come on, and she stares at the phone in her hand like she’s never seen it before. It takes her a second to realise that it was vibrating to signal the battery dying, and she tightens her hand around it reflexively, almost like she wants to throw it against the wall but she doesn’t, just drops it on the table next to her and stares at her empty hands, wondering what to do next. 

_Phone charger_ , she thinks distantly, _Overnight bag_.

She stands up jerkily and finds her bag, pulling things out with shaky hands until she gives up and upends the contents on to the bed, tossing things aside and looking for her phone charger frantically. It’s not there, and she swallows the scream of frustration and starts shoving things back into the bag messily, throwing it away from her without looking where it lands childishly. She hates that it makes her feel a little bit better.

She thinks she left her charger in the car, and the thought makes her heart twist because that’s where the ring still is as well, where Brittany left it in the cupholder. 

She wishes Brittany was still where she left her.

She finds her car keys on the desk and almost sighs in relief, because if Brittany didn’t take the car then she can’t have gone far, and she’s half out of the door, wondering if maybe Brittany just stepped outside to get some air, before she realises that the keycard is gone and she has no way of getting back into the room if she leaves.

Her fingers slip from the edge of the door, and she watches as it slams shut and winces a little at the sound, squeezing the car keys in her hand so tightly that they start to dig into her skin, and it’s only when her hand starts shaking that she realises it’s starting to hurt. She loosens her grip and drops the keys back on to the desk, staring down at the marks on the palm of her hand without really seeing them. She screws her hand up into a fist, the ends of her fingers pressing against the dents left by the keys until she winces and has to let go.

She doesn’t know what to do. She wants to go and look for her like she’s in some sort of awful romantic comedy but she can’t leave the room, and Salt Lake is so big she doesn’t know where she’d start anyway. For the third time in her life she’s working without a plan, and she feels utterly useless, small and insignificant in a way she hasn’t for a long, long time.

She has to wait, she just has to wait, and then Brittany will come back, smiling and beautiful and laughing at the worried look on her face, and everything will be okay again.

She crawls on to the bed and draws her knees up under her chin slowly, wrapping her arms around them and staring at the door, like if she only stares hard enough Brittany will appear.

She just has to wait for Brittany, and she ignores the tiny part of her mind that wonders what she’ll do if Brittany doesn’t come back.

+

She honestly doesn’t know if she’s been sitting there for a minute, an hour or a whole day when the door opens, and she scrambles to her feet quickly, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. She’s taken two steps before Brittany has even closed the door, and then she stops, suddenly unsure. She hugs herself, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress as she waits, listening to the ragged sound of her own breathing.

The moment seems to stretch, and Santana can feel everything balancing on it, like their entire lives could turn on what happens next, and she doesn’t want to say anything in case she ruins it all again.

“Oh,” Brittany says, eyes widening, “You’re awake.” She takes a step closer and her eyes get soft, “I wanted to be back before you woke up but I guess I lost track of the time.”

Brittany takes another step closer slowly, like Santana might startle if she goes any faster, “I went to get food. I—I thought you might be hungry,” her voice is soft, and she leans down a little until she’s looking into Santana’s eyes. “Are you hungry?” 

Santana nods and takes a tiny step towards her, and she almost sees Brittany sigh with relief, like all the tension has gone out of her body, and then Santana whimpers and feels something snap inside her. She crosses the room in three quick strides, cupping Brittany’s cheek with one hand and pressing the other to the back of Brittany’s neck to pull her closer, until she finds Brittany’s lips with her own.

She kisses her hard, her tongue pushing into Brittany’s mouth clumsily, Brittany humming against her lips in surprise as Santana presses herself closer and holds Brittany as tightly as she knows how.

She doesn’t want to think and she doesn’t want to talk so she just keeps kissing Brittany, deep, desperate and a little bit frantic, over and over again. She just keeps kissing her, until Brittany’s arm snakes around her waist and her palm settles in the small of her back against her spine, until Brittany tugs her towards the desk so she can drop the bag of food she’s carrying there and bring her other arm up to tangle into her hair.

She doesn’t want to stop, because if she doesn’t stop then Brittany can’t leave again, but after a moment, Brittany tries to pull away, pressing kisses to Santana’s lips that refuse to deepen, as she breathes out shakily against her mouth.

“Santana,” Brittany murmurs, and the sound of her own name makes her whimper again. Brittany’s hand is still in Santana’s hair and she shifts until she has her hand at the hinge of Santana’s jaw and tries to tilt her head up to find her eyes. Santana swallows and looks away.

“Santana, talk to me.” Brittany’s thumb rubs at her jaw comfortingly, and Santana can feel herself trembling but she doesn’t know how to make it stop. Brittany just holds her and waits, letting her find the words.

“You weren’t here,” she chokes out after a moment. “I woke up and you weren’t here.” She swallows and risks a glance up at Brittany’s face, finding her eyes soft and impossibly blue. “I thought you left me.” The ring hangs unspoken in the air between them.

“I sent you a text,” Brittany whispers as her eyes screw up in confusion for a second, before being replaced with a look of alarm. “I would never leave you, Santana.”

“You weren’t here,” Santana says again, her fingers tightening in Brittany’s hair as she tries to press herself closer. Her voice comes out sounding kind of broken and she coughs a little, like she’s trying to clear her throat, to cover it up.

“Oh honey,” Brittany murmurs, her eyes going so deep that Santana thinks she could fall into them. “I’m sorry,” she says, and then she nudges her nose against Santana’s until Santana’s head tilts back and she can kiss her again, gentler than before but just as deep, each kiss openmouthed and lingering long after it’s gone.

Santana whimpers into Brittany’s mouth and kisses her back, grasping her face in her hands as Brittany’s arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer, until they’re pressed together without an inch of space between them. She tries not to think of anything but the feel of Brittany’s lips against hers, of the way her tongue slips into her mouth and brushes against hers so softly she’s not sure if she’s imagining it or not. 

Brittany presses her lips to Santana’s so carefully, like she’s trying to kiss reassurance into her, but Santana pulls away from the thought and the way it makes her heart twist, and loses herself in kissing her back instead. She savours the feel of Brittany’s body under her fingertips, and how she gasps into her mouth when she trails a hand down and over her breast on the way to pushing under Brittany’s shirt and finding smooth skin. She drags her fingers up and over her stomach, trying to map every inch of it, the voice in the back of her head whispering about earlier and how this might be the last time she gets to do this, no matter what Brittany says.

She pushes her hand higher, until she’s palming Brittany’s breast through her bra and Brittany’s breathing goes a little ragged and her kisses get clumsy, in a way that makes something flip over in Santana’s belly and makes her lean into Brittany even more, their foreheads and noses squashing together as they continue to kiss. She wishes she could turn her mind off and ignore the little voice whispering at her that this won’t last and that Brittany is going to leave again, but she can’t, so she squeezes her eyes shut tighter and kisses Brittany again and again, sucking at her neck and dragging her teeth over the skin until Brittany whimpers and pulls her head up to kiss her. 

Santana breaks the kiss just long enough to pull Brittany’s shirt over her head before pressing their bodies together, reaching behind Brittany to unfasten her bra and tug that out of the way too. She still has her clothes on but she doesn’t give Brittany a chance to do anything about it, just starts to walk Brittany backwards towards the bed without breaking the kiss, her hand finding Brittany’s breast again as they go.

“San—” Brittany starts to say, low in her throat, but Santana kisses her and cuts her off, hoping she gets the hint because she still doesn’t want to think, she just wants to feel Brittany everywhere she can in every way she can and shut the voice up in her head.

They take another couple of steps before Brittany’s legs hit the bed and her knees buckle, and Santana pushes her down until she’s sitting on the edge of it and then drops to her knees and kisses at Brittany’s stomach as she reaches for the button on her shorts. Brittany kicks her shoes off and lifts herself up so Santana can pull her shorts down, and she pulls Brittany’s underwear off too, her movements quick and frantic. She hooks one hand around the back of Brittany’s knee and presses a kiss to it and along the inside of her thigh, and when she glances up at Brittany she’s looking down at her with dark eyes, biting her bottom lip and breathing hard, watching Santana carefully.

They lock eyes for a moment, and Santana feels like Brittany is looking into her soul again, looking for something she doesn’t understand, until Brittany’s breath hitches and Santana blinks and looks away, brushing her mouth against the inside of Brittany’s thigh again as she moves higher.

Brittany groans when Santana kisses into her and settles into a slow rhythm, her fingers tangling into Santana’s hair and guiding her where she wants her, Santana happy to go where she leads. She loses herself in Brittany, in the way she overwhelms all of her senses until all she knows is the way Brittany tastes beneath her tongue, until all she can hear is the little gasps she makes above her whenever Santana moves her mouth.

She reaches for Brittany’s hip with her free hand to pull her closer as Brittany’s breathing gets more erratic and she starts to rock into her, tiny movements she keeps trying to stop before they start but Santana notices anyway. She presses her tongue against Brittany a little harder and feels Brittany shudder, her whimpers getting louder as her fingers tighten in Santana’s hair.

“Santana,” Brittany murmurs, over and over again, like it’s the only word she knows, and Santana latches onto her name like a lifeline, swallowing a moan. She brings her hand up until she can slide her fingers, one and then two, inside of Brittany and move them slowly, in time with her tongue, and hears Brittany gasp again.

She hears Brittany mumble something but can’t tell what it is, just hears the way her breath catches in her throat as she rocks into Santana’s mouth. Her movements pull moans from Brittany, the most beautiful noises Santana thinks she’s ever heard, and she can feel Brittany’s body getting tense, the muscles starting to squeeze around her fingers as Brittany’s gasps get louder and she moves more jerkily, like she can’t stand more contact but needs it at the same time.

“I love you,” Brittany says above her, and Santana shifts her head a little so she can look up and finds Brittany looking down at her, one hand behind her holding herself up as the other brushes Santana’s hair away from her face.

“I love you,” Brittany says again, and Santana mumbles the words back to her, smiling a little when Brittany jerks at the way it makes Santana’s lips vibrate against her.

“I love you,” Brittany says, and then she gasps and shudders as every muscle in her body tightens and Santana kisses her down, her fingers stilling inside of her as she licks slowly, her tongue making the tiniest movements against her.

Brittany sighs above her, her body stilling as her fingers brush against the back of Santana’s head. Santana keeps going, moving as slowly and gently as she knows how. First her tongue, and then her fingers start again too, tiny, tiny movements that make Brittany’s breath hitch as the hand on her head tightens.

“Oh,” Brittany gasps, as Santana sucks and rocks her hand, slowly, slowly, slowly. “Oh,” she says again. “Santana.” Something about the way Brittany says her name makes something turn over in her stomach, makes her fingers start to move a little bit faster and crook just so.

Brittany gasps, “Don’t stop. Oh, Santana, don’t stop.”

Santana wants to tell her that she never will.

+

When Brittany comes again, it’s even harder than before, and she falls back against the mattress, her back arching up as Santana tries to hold on. Brittany makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan and squeezes her legs together, the hand on the back of Santana’s head urging her away until Santana is resting her head against Brittany’s thigh, breathing hard.

Santana stays close and waits for her own breathing to even out along with Brittany’s, pressing soft kisses to Brittany’s thigh as she rests her head there, her fingers clutching at her hip and holding her close. It feels like forever until Brittany moves, and then she pushes herself up on her elbow and sweeps her hair out of her eyes to look down at Santana, happy smile on her face, and Santana feels the last of the tension seep out of her at the expression on Brittany’s face, soft and open and loving, until there’s nothing left but a tiny memory in the back of her mind and a vague sense of embarrassment at the way she felt earlier.

“Hi,” Santana says softly, feeling her lips quirk up into a smile when Brittany reaches to cup her face in her hand and tugs her upwards.

“Hey,” Brittany whispers back, leaning down to meet Santana halfway as she comes up. Brittany kisses her softly as she pulls Santana into her lap, her legs either side of Brittany’s as Brittany sucks her tongue into her mouth and nips at her bottom lip slowly. She can’t help the way she leans into Brittany or the way she kisses her back desperately, and she feels Brittany smile into the next kiss before pulling back to kiss a trail up to her ear.

“You’re still wearing all of your clothes,” Brittany mock whines, her hand sliding down to hook under the bottom of Santana’s dress and tug, making sure that she drags her fingers over Santana’s skin as she pulls it up and over her head. She tosses it aside and kisses every bit of Santana’s skin that she can reach, and there’s something about the way she moves that makes Santana think she’s being careful with her, like she’s a precious thing that Brittany is trying to protect. She feels something in her stomach flip flop again.

Brittany unhooks Santana’s bra and draws it down her arms carefully, leaning forward to kiss each patch of skin revealed in its wake, until her tongue flicks over a nipple and Santana whines in the back of her throat and pulls her up so she can kiss her again. Brittany cups her face in her hands and kisses her slow and sweet, sighing and smiling into every kiss like she’s never been happier, and Santana can feel herself melt into the contact, until waking up alone feels like a bad dream that Brittany is kissing away, holding her until the memory fades and everything is okay again.

Brittany shifts a little until she has one hand behind Santana’s head and the other at the small of her back, and she half stands and turns, guiding Santana down onto the bed without breaking the kiss, her hands holding her all the way until her head finds the pillow and settles into it. Brittany’s hips bracket hers, pressing against her when she arches up into the next kiss, and Brittany’s fingertips trace patterns over her body, lower and lower, over her breasts and stomach, and then down to her thigh and up to her hip, her thumb hooking into the waistband of her underwear and staying there for a second as their kisses deepen again.

She’s not even aware that she’s holding Brittany so tightly until Brittany pulls back to look at her, pressing tiny kisses to her chin and cheek when Santana looks surprised at the loss of contact. “You gotta let me go so I can rid of these,” she says softly as her thumb tugs at the last bit of fabric between them again. “I’ll come right back, Santana. Right back.” Brittany kisses her again to prove her point and Santana loosens her grip around Brittany’s back, smoothing her fingers down her spine and away, letting Brittany go.

She still watches anxiously when Brittany pushes herself up and rocks backwards with her legs underneath her so she can pull Santana’s panties off reverently, her fingers brushing down her legs in the wake of the fabric. Brittany exhales shakily once she’s dropped Santana’s underwear on to the floor, sitting back on her feet as she stares at Santana lying in front of her.

Brittany’s gaze isn’t hungry or lecherous when she looks at her, and Santana’s half sure that Brittany’s eyes are fixed on her face anyway, and that she doesn’t even see the rest of her. She doesn’t look at her the way the boys did who came before, and the thought hits her suddenly that she never has, that she’s always looked at her this way, her expression soft and full of love, but also a little bit surprised like Santana takes her breath away, every single time.

She wonders if Brittany knows she takes her breath away too, whenever she looks at her.

Brittany reaches forward slowly with one hand and swirls the tip of her index finger around Santana’s hipbone, then drags it higher, until her palm is resting against Santana’s chest over her heart, and Santana is sure she must be able to feel the way its trying to beat its way out of her chest. She tries to force her breathing to stay even but fails, feeling it catch in the back of her throat, and watches the way the corners of Brittany’s mouth crook up into a smile when she hears it.

“I love you,” Brittany says through her shy smile, leaning forward so that she’s hovering over Santana and using her hand to hold herself up, her other still resting against Santana’s heart.

“I love you too,” Santana murmurs, barely above a whisper but loud enough for Brittany to hear, and then Brittany sinks down on top of her, one arm snaking between Santana and the mattress so she can hold her as she kisses her, licking into her mouth slowly, their foreheads bumping together as Brittany stays as close as she can.

Santana gasps into Brittany’s mouth when Brittany’s hand moves from her heart and finds its way between her legs, Brittany’s fingers settling into a slow rhythm between their bodies. They kiss lazily and a little clumsily, stopping whenever Santana gasps, so close that they’re breathing on some sort of cycle into each other’s mouths, and Santana’s half sure they might run out of oxygen but can’t find it in her to care.

She tries to keep her eyes open, even though all she can see is a blur of cornflower blue eyes and honey blonde hair, Brittany’s sun-kissed skin and freckles dancing in front of her whenever she blinks. She knows Brittany is doing the same when she pulls back the tiniest bit and the blur becomes her smiling face, hovering above her for just a second before she leans in to kiss her again. Brittany’s breathing sounds just as ragged as hers, and she hums into their kisses, her tongue brushing against Santana’s as she sucks it into her mouth, sloppy and clumsy as she concentrates on moving her hand and Santana tries to stop her hips rocking up and pushing them apart.

She doesn’t think she’s ever been this close to Brittany before, doesn’t think Brittany has ever held her like this, like she’s gathered her up and is keeping her safe from the rest of the world, using her whole body to protect her and hold her together. It tugs at something low in her belly, something that has nothing to do with what Brittany’s fingers are doing between her legs, and her hands tighten against Brittany’s back beneath her shoulder blade as Brittany rocks into her and kisses her neck, sucking at her pulse point for a second before coming back up and finding her lips again.

Santana can’t stop herself from groaning into Brittany’s mouth as she feels everything tighten within her and she comes against Brittany’s fingers, can’t stop her hips from bucking up and her eyes rolling back in her head before she has to close them for a second. She knows Brittany is watching her and she tries to open her eyes and find her lips again, succeeding only in pressing a messy kiss to the corner of Brittany’s mouth. She grins when Brittany laughs, low and throaty, and presses her forehead against Santana’s again as her fingers slow and still, drawing the last of Santana’s orgasm from her. 

Brittany kisses every inch of her face while she tries to regain her breath; her cheeks, lips, nose, and eyelids, tiny little kisses that ghost against her skin and tickle more than they linger, until Santana laughs and interrupts her, finding her lips with her own and kissing her, slow and deep, and Brittany sighs out contentedly and pulls back to look at her, fingers tracing over her cheekbone when Santana’s eyes settle on hers.

“Hi,” Brittany says with a grin, brushing some of Santana’s hair away from her face.

“Hey,” Santana whispers back happily, and snuggles into her embrace, her whole body feeling heavy and sleepy as she relaxes into her. Brittany presses another kiss to her forehead and then shifts a little, and Santana starts, clutching Brittany to her, thinking suddenly that she’s going to go away.

“Hey,” Brittany whispers and presses a kiss to the underside of Santana’s chin. “I still got you, okay?” She only moves until she’s lying next to Santana on her side, one leg thrown over Santana’s hips carelessly as she settles against her, her hand lying on her heart again, her fingers twitching against her skin in time with the beats.

“I’ve always got you,” Brittany murmurs softly, and when she snuggles closer and holds her with the arm still underneath her, Santana believes it.

+

She thinks she falls asleep, because the next thing she knows Brittany is brushing her fingers against her cheek softly as she murmurs, “I got tacos if you’re hungry.” Santana’s eye flutter open just in time to see Brittany blush when she adds, “I think they might have gotten cold now though.”

“Is that where you went?” Santana asks after a minute, once she’s rubbed her hand over her face in an attempt to wake herself up.

Brittany nods, and presses a kiss to her shoulder as she sits up. “I was gonna go to McDonalds for breakfast,” she pauses for half a second before she carries on. “But I went the wrong way, and by the time I got there it was after 10.30.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, “So I got Chipotle instead.”

“Tacos sound good,” Santana says through a yawn, and Brittany nods, kissing her shoulder again before she slides out of bed in search of their food.

She bends down to retrieve her shirt from the floor when she goes and pulls it over her head without bothering to put her bra on, then steps into her underwear as well, laughing a little when Santana pretends to whine from her place on the bed.

“Do you want your food or not?” Brittany asks, swinging the bag from her hand and Santana grins, trying her best to look contrite.

“Can you get me something to wear too?” She points at her overnight bag and grins when Brittany pretends to huff, watching as she pulls a clean shirt and underwear out of her duffle.

Santana rolls onto her back when Brittany comes closer, and she drops the clothes on to her chest as she leans forward to kiss her, upside down and clumsy so that Santana’s nose is pressing into Brittany’s chin and they both end up laughing, Santana rolling her eyes when Brittany pulls away.

“You must have mistaken me for Sam,” Santana says, sitting up to pull the shirt over her head, “He’s into that Spider-man stuff, not me.”

Brittany just gives her a look as she pulls the food out of the bag and holds out a bottle of water to her, waiting for her to pull her panties on.

“What?” Santana asks as she takes the water and unwraps her food, and when she looks up at her she’s pretty sure Brittany is hiding a smirk as she takes a bite of her food and chews slowly, eyes flashing.

“Nothing,” she says after a moment, and laughs when Santana rolls her eyes again.

The food’s still good even though it’s cold, and they eat mostly in silence, stealing little bits from each other the way they always do when they have something different, each trying to convince the other that theirs is better. She didn’t realise how hungry she was until she started eating, and for a second she doesn’t think she’s ever tasted anything so good before she fights the sudden urge to cross herself and call her abuela to apologise.

The thought of her abuela sends a pang of homesickness through her, the same way mentioning Sam did before, and she wonders what their families and friends are doing back in Lima, if they’re missing them or if they’ve even noticed they’re gone. She suddenly wants to hear her mama’s voice more than anything, and she glances at her phone on the bedside table, wondering if she’d be at home if she called.

Brittany reaches over to take the wrapper from her food away, scrunching it into a ball with hers and tossing it back into the bag, pulling her from her thoughts. Brittany stares at her for a second, as though she’s trying to work something out, and she reaches over to brush her fingers against her chin softly. “What’s wrong, honey love?”

She shrugs but has a feeling that won’t work, and sure enough Brittany just keeps looking at her, her hand finding Santana’s and rubbing between the knuckles, waiting for her to say something. “Homesick,” Santana says eventually, then shrugs and looks away. “I think I’m gonna go get my phone charger out of the car and call my mom.”

She brings Brittany’s hand up to her lips and kisses her knuckles before climbing off the bed while Brittany nods and watches her go. She yawns and stretches herself back on the bed, reaching for her own phone in the pockets of her shorts on the floor.

“I’ll be right here,” she says, holding her gaze for a moment to make sure she heard, and Santana feels a phantom pang at the words. 

She shakes her head to try and clear it, hoping it looks like a nod.

She pulls the shorts out of Brittany’s hands and tugs them up her legs before Brittany can say anything about it, shooting her a smile over her shoulder as she swipes her car keys and the keycard from the desk and heads for the door.

+

She takes a moment to lean against the wall and just breathe once she’s out in the hallway, trying to work out what the feeling twisting her stomach is as she starts to walk, trailing her fingers down the wall as she heads outside slowly, nodding curtly at the guy who beams at her from behind the reception desk as she heads for the doors.

She blinks against the sun when she gets outside, shielding her eyes with her hand as she crosses the parking lot to their car. The sun glints off the silver paintwork, and as she moves closer, reaching for the door to pull it open, something glints on the inside too, catching her eye.

She stills when she realises what it is, swallowing against the sudden tightness in her throat.

The ring is just where Brittany left it, sitting in the cupholder under the radio, and she blinks quickly, forcing herself to look away. Her eyes drift back to it slowly, like maybe if she goes carefully it won’t be there by the time she looks, but it still is, and she moves her hand towards it slowly before stopping, hovering halfway between her and the ring before dropping away.

She swallows again and tears her gaze away, scrambling further into the car and leaning over the console to rummage through her glove box until she finds her phone charger and cradles it in her hand. She starts to move back now that she has what she wants but the ring catches her eye again, and she wonders wildly if the sun is doing that on purpose, or if it’s always shined through her windscreen like that.

She’s fairly sure the sun in Lima never acted this way.

She stares at the ring for a long moment before she darts her hand out to grab it and slip it on to the finger of her left hand, forcing herself to look away as she climbs out of the car and slams the door behind her.

She locks the car and heads back inside quickly, hurrying back the way she came, and just before she gets to their room she pauses and glances down at the ring again, twisting it round her finger for a second before pulling it off and moving it to her index finger instead. 

She stares at it for a moment longer before she she reaches for the keycard and pushes it into the slot.

+

Brittany is where she left her on the bed, and after she plugs her charger into the wall and into her phone, giving it a minute to charge up before she switches it on, she sinks down next to her, and watches Brittany tap out a text message to Quinn with quick, deft movements.

She reaches for Santana’s hand absentmindedly when she’s done, and when her thumb moves to rub against her knuckles Santana holds her breath, wondering if Brittany will notice the ring.

Her thumb falters for just a second when it encounters metal before moving again, and she’s sure she sees Brittany glance down at her hand for just a second before she looks back at her phone, and Santana exhales a little shakily, hoping Brittany won’t notice.

If Brittany does, she doesn’t say anything, and when Santana pulls away to retrieve her phone and call her mom, Brittany lets her go, eyes fixed on the phone in her hand like they don’t dare look anywhere else.

+

Calling her mom takes longer than she thought it would because she doesn’t want to hang up, even though they’re not really talking about anything at all. She sits back against the headboard because it’s the only place she can sit and have the cord from her charger still reach, and Brittany curls into her, the fingers of her left hand tangled around Santana’s right, so she can still text while she sits there, pressing kisses to Santana’s knees every now and then and catching her by surprise.

Her mom tells her about how much they’re all missing her, and how Brittany’s mom called and asked if Santana’s parents wanted to go out to dinner with them one evening, so they could miss their girls together and compare childhood stories, and the thought makes Santana feel a little funny though she’s not entirely sure why.

It’s only when she asks if her father is around to talk for the third time and her mom sighs and says, “He’s at work,” again that her mom asks her if she’s okay, and Santana makes a noncommittal noise into the receiver, somewhere between a yes and a no.

There’s a pause before her mom speaks, and then she says, “Santana... are you and Brittany okay? Salt Lake is—” She trails off and there’s a pause while she tries to work out what to say. “You’re okay, right?” Santana can hear the concern in her voice, lurking under the forced casual way she asks the questions.

“Nothing bad happened to us,” Santana says quickly, because it didn’t, not the way her mom means, and she sees Brittany glance up at her out of the corner of her eye, almost like she wants to argue. “We just got in late last night, and I’m still a little tired.”

That makes her mom sigh in exasperation instead and puts them back on familiar ground, “It’s the middle of the afternoon! You should be out seeing the city.”

“We’re just enjoying being in one place,” Santana says softly, and Brittany squeezes her hand at the words, like she’s agreeing with her.

Her mom makes a disapproving sound in the back of her throat, and Santana rolls her eyes, suddenly glad she can’t see. “We’ll be in California in a couple of days,” Santana says, interrupting her mom before she can speak again. “We’re saving all our exploring for then, okay?”

“Well make sure that you do,” her mom says firmly, and there’s a pause before she says, “If you wanted to stay in bed with Brittany you could have done that at home,” quickly and a little bit sternly, all in a rush, like she can’t believe she’s saying it.

Santana blushes so furiously that she almost drops the phone, and it’s only when Brittany looks up at her, trying to silently ask what’s wrong, that she speaks, “Bye mom, tell dad I love him.” Her voice comes out kind of strangled and Brittany’s face scrunches in confusion.

She hangs up with fumbling fingers and almost throws the phone away from her, wrapping an arm around Brittany’s shoulders and leaning forward to bury her face against her shoulder as she groans. “My mom thinks we’re having some kind of sex marathon,” she mumbles after a minute, and feels rather than hears Brittany laugh against her.

When she finally looks up, Brittany is grinning at her like she’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen, and she offers her a tiny shrug, “She’s kind of right.”

Santana opens her mouth to protest, but Brittany laughs and leans forward to cut her off with a kiss, and Santana’s words are lost against her lips.

+

Santana checks through her plans for the rest of the journey while Brittany uploads some of the pictures from her camera to her computer next to her, their feet bumping against each other at the bottom of the mattress. Brittany’s left hand rubs at Santana’s thigh absentmindedly while she cycles through the photos and transfers them off her memory card, and Santana ends up giving up on her plans in favour of watching her fingers skip over the trackpad, watching Brittany’s mouth twist in concentration as she evaluates each photo before deciding whether to keep it or not. 

When she gets to the ones she took of Santana in Iowa, her mouth quirks into a smile and she lingers over them, leaving them open while she skips through the others and glancing back at them every now and then. 

Santana doesn’t think Brittany knows she’s watching her, and when she starts going through the transferred photos and sorting them into folders, Santana shifts a little, trying to get a better look. There’s a folder called ‘For Quinn’ that all the fields and mountains and canyons go into, and another called ‘Dorktour ‘12’ that she puts the funny ones of herself and Santana in—Brittany peering into the lens so there’s just a photo of her eye, one of Santana trying to push the camera away while she’s driving that’s mostly her hand, one of the both of them leaning together and pulling their faces, half cut off because Brittany was holding the camera and guessing when they were in frame—and soon enough she just has a list of ten or so photos left that she highlights quickly and drags into another folder, one that Santana can’t see the name of because Brittany angles the screen down and moves to unplug her camera, so that Santana has to look back down at her plans quickly before Brittany notices she’s trying to see.

Brittany stretches her arms up over her head until her shoulders pop, and then she slumps down against Santana and nudges her foot with hers, grinning when Santana looks up from her map. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” she says, screwing the lens cap back onto her camera carefully and setting it back in its padded case. She brushes her hand against Santana’s thigh again, in a way that makes something in Santana sit up and take notice, and she shivers a little when Brittany’s fingers dance a little higher. “Are you coming?”

She opens her mouth to say yes just as her phone starts to ring, and Brittany laughs, pushing her towards it with a sigh. “You should answer that,” she says with a smirk, standing up and pulling her t-shirt over her head before dropping it carelessly on the end of the bed.

She still isn’t wearing a bra, and Santana swallows. “I can call them back,” she says quickly, but Brittany’s already pulling her wash bag from her duffle and disappearing into the bathroom, and Santana stares after her, mouth hanging open a little. 

Her phone rings again, insistent, and she reaches for it slowly, her brain still stuck on the sight of Brittany in nothing but her underwear, padding into the bathroom.

She hears the water come on, and then Brittany sticks her head around the door, that smirk still on her face. “I’ll be waiting,” she says, and then she tosses something at Santana, something that it takes Santana a minute to realise is her underwear, and Santana presses her thumb against the screen so hard she’s half surprised it doesn’t crack.

“This better be very fucking good, Samuel,” she says brusquely when she hears him say hi.

He falters for just a second before he carries on, unphased by her tone, “I’ve just been to the comic book store, and the new Batwoman came in. You’ll never guess who’s back—”

Santana holds her hand up like she’s trying to cut him off even though he can’t see her. “If your next words aren’t Renee Montoya and/or The Question, I’m going to find a way to smack you through the phone.”

Sam trails off, and she’s just wondering if he’d forgive her for hanging up on him when he speaks again. “Dude, you sound kind of weird. What’s going on? Did something happen?”

She really wants to hate the earnest way he asks, the concern clear in his voice, but she finds it just makes her miss him more, and she holds the phone a little closer to her ear, listening to the sound of his breathing and wondering how even that sounds sincere and solid, just like him. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Sammy,” she says, voice a little softer than before. “But Brittany’s in the shower right now and the only reason I’m not is because I’m talking to you.”

He’s silent for about a second before he bursts out laughing and she gets offended that she’s talking to him instead of showering with her girlfriend all over again, and she’s pretty sure he laughs harder when she huffs out an indignant breath, trying to find something to say.

“Is it still cockblocking if it’s two girls?” Sam manages to ask through his laughter, and Santana snorts in spite of herself.

“I’m hanging up now,” she says as flatly as she can, only it’s undone by the smile on her face.

“May the Force be with you,” Sam says solemnly, and then cracks up all over again just as she ends the call.

She stares at her phone in disbelief for a second, before she sets it back down on the table and tries her best to get Sam Evans and his geekiness out of her head. She loves Sam, she really does, but she does not need to be thinking about him or fucking lightsabers while Brittany is in the shower on the other side of the wall.

She glances as Brittany’s computer as she climbs off the bed and searches for her shampoo, and for half a second her curiosity gets the better of her and she considers looking which folder Brittany transferred the pictures into, but then Brittany shouts something that sounds a lot like her name, half whine and half need, and she scrambles towards the bathroom, shedding her clothes as she goes.

+

Brittany’s rinsing the shampoo out of her hair when Santana climbs in next to her, and she waits until all the suds are gone before she slides her arms around Brittany’s waist and presses herself against her back, bumping her nose into Brittany’s hair and kissing the back of her neck while Brittany hums and steps forward so Santana is under the water.

She splutters a little when some of the water gets into her mouth and nose, shaking her head as she squeezes her eyes shut and whines against Brittany’s skin.

Brittany laughs and turns into her embrace, kissing her eyelids in turn. “That’s one way to get clean.”

“You’re mean,” Santana says without much feeling, but she still doesn’t open her eyes, and after a second, Brittany’s nose brushes against hers, almost making her jump in surprise. Brittany’s lips are warm and wet from the water raining down on them, and they kiss under the stream, giggling into every kiss as the water makes their skin flush pink and warm and tender beneath their fingers.

+

Brittany pulls on clean underwear and some pants while Santana huddles into the towel and tries to get dry, and she’s so busy peering at her hair in the mirror that she doesn’t notice Brittany creeping up behind her until it’s too late, and then she spins Santana around so that they’re facing each other and lifts her off her feet. Santana’s legs wrap around Brittany’s waist of their own accord, and Brittany grins at the surprised look on her face as her arms slide around Brittany’s shoulders and grip tightly.

Brittany carries her back into the other room, dodging around the obstacles in their way with unnerving accuracy even though Santana’s half sure she doesn’t even look, and only stops when they get back to the bed, leaning down a little to nudge her computer out of the way before she sets Santana down carefully, and Santana scrambles to cover herself with her towel.

“All my clothes are in the bathroom!” Santana laughs, trying to push Brittany away when she half climbs on to her lap, and Brittany lets her, swaying backwards a little before coming closer again.

“You don’t need clothes,” she says through a grin, wiggling her eyebrows until Santana laughs and tugs her towel up higher.

“You have clothes on,” Santana points out, sliding a finger under Brittany’s bra strap and pulling it until it snaps back against Brittany’s skin for emphasis.

“Then you should learn from my mistakes,” Brittany says solemnly, “Because that hurt.” She tries to tug at Santana’s towel again, kissing the swell of Santana’s breasts and grinning up at her roguishly. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Santana says when Brittany tries to lean in and kiss her, turning her head so she ends up sucking at her neck instead.

“I don’t know what that means,” Brittany admits after a moment, pulling back to shrug a little. “But if it means ‘really hot and about to get with her really hot girlfriend’ then yes.”

Santana laughs and kisses her softly, just once, pulling back before it can deepen. “Nice try, but no. It means I’m going to put my clothes on and you need to put a shirt on.”

“I like that version less,” Brittany says, pulling her face, but she climbs off her anyway and searches through her bag until she finds a plain white t-shirt and pulls it on, and she looks so good with her wet hair hanging down around her face that Santana almost forgets why she told her to get dressed in the first place.

“San?” Brittany asks after a moment when Santana doesn’t move, and she shakes her head, tucking her towel around her more tightly before she stands up.

“Don’t talk to me right now,” she mumbles, nearly tripping over their overnight bags as she stumbles back towards the bathroom. “I need to remember why clothes are a good idea.”

“So I can take you out for dinner,” Brittany shouts through the door at her, right before the noise of a hair dryer fills the room, and Santana exhales noisily as she stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, trying to convince herself that that’s a good reason.

She guesses it is.

Maybe.

+

Brittany sticks her head round the door when Santana is slipping her contacts in, blinking a little as she gets used to them again after a couple of days without wearing them. “I’m gonna go down to the front desk and ask if there’s a nice restaurant nearby, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Santana nods, and when Brittany starts to disappear, she reaches out to grab her t-shirt, her hand fisting in the fabric and pulling her back for a kiss, before she lets her go. “Okay,” she says softly, and Brittany’s mouth quirks up into a grin as she darts forward for another kiss before she steps backwards and disappears from view.

Santana hears the door open and shut as she combs through her wet hair with her fingers, teasing the wet chunks into waves until she’s satisfied it’s no longer a mess, before she pulls a cardigan on over her dress and heads back into the other room.

She feels a twinge in her chest at the sight of the room without Brittany in it, but she knows she’ll be back this time and pushes it away, picking her make-up bag off the table where she left it when she got her contacts and settling on the bed as she pulls bits and pieces out, wanting to look pretty for Brittany.

She’s got her eye liner pencil in her hand before she notices Brittany’s computer, the lid still half open on the bedside table, and she remembers Brittany moving the pictures earlier and her curiosity suddenly gets the better of her.

She sneaks a glance at the door, as though Brittany is about to come and catch her, before sliding closer to the computer and lifting the lid. She knows she shouldn’t look, because if Brittany wanted her to see she’d show her, but she wants to know what Brittany did with the photos of her. She wonders if maybe she could claim she had a right to know since they were photos of her, and then pushes the thought away, aware of how ridiculous that is. 

The thought occurs to her suddenly that maybe Brittany deleted the pictures and just didn’t want her to see, and she pauses for half a second when the password screen comes up, wondering if she really wants to know. She glances at the door again before she makes her decision, aware that Brittany will be back soon, and she types in l0rdt113 quickly, tapping her fingers against the trackpad while she waits for Brittany’s desktop to appear.

She keeps one eye on the door as she clicks over to Brittany’s picture folder anyway and then scrolls down, reading the folder names and wondering which one it could be. Brittany’s pretty good about organising her photos, and she clicks the one called ‘2012’ quickly, sliding past Ashley’s birthday and nationals and graduation, before she sees summer, Quinn’s fields and mountains and the silly photos of them from the past couple of days. She keeps scrolling for a second before she realises there’s no other folder in there, and she goes back to the page with the years, wondering where else it could be hiding. 

She tries scrolling down to the bottom of 2011 just in case Brittany put them in the wrong place, but all she can see is Quinn’s birthday, West Side Story, and a folder labelled ‘holidays’ so she clicks back again.

It’s only after she glances at the door again then looks at the list of years that she notices the folder right at the bottom called ‘Ever After’ and feels something tighten painfully in her chest. She clicks over to it slowly, and finds it full of photos that start the summer before and chart pretty much the whole year, mostly of her but the odd one of the two of them, or ones where it’s obvious Santana is looking at Brittany behind the camera.

She looks at herself lying in the grass in Brittany’s back yard in the sun, a trace of the old fear lurking behind her eyes when she looks at Brittany that means it must have been the summer before, then she’s standing backstage opening night of the musical and peering through a tiny gap in the curtains. There’s one of them cheering at a football game and another of her leaning down from the stands to talk to Sam as he stands at the edge of the swimming pool at school, clearly nervous in his shorts with his arms folded over his chest, and she remembers telling him that he better be awesome because she didn’t come here to cheer for some dork doing synchronised swimming, and remembers that he was.

There’s sectionals with Troubletones, regionals with New Directions, and then a photo of Santana the night before Nationals in the hallway of their hotel, her shoes hanging from her fingers as she tugs Brittany’s hand back towards their room, and she remembers how no one had been surprised when they sneaked back in with smiles on their faces, and how Quinn had rolled her eyes. There are pictures of birthdays and family dinners and parties, the two of them dressed up and trying their best to act like adults while they hold each other’s hands and introduce each other to family members as girlfriends for the first time, nerves hiding behind their eyes. It all ends with the pictures from their trip, of Santana asleep on a bed in a motel in Iowa, and she flicks through them all dumbfounded, wondering why Brittany has never shown them to her before.

She’s amazed by how all these big events from the last year look utterly commonplace and domestic through Brittany’s lens, how she can believe, seeing these photos, that this really is the start of something that’s going to go on forever and ever, and she scrolls through them again, lingering over a close up of her reading a book on the couch that she remembers Brittany taking when she was snuggled up against her, and another of the back of their heads as they watch a movie with Ashley cuddled between them on the couch, that Brittany’s mom had taken without any of them knowing, until they heard the flash.

She only stops looking at them when she hears the door click and start to push open, and she shuts the lid of the computer quickly, pulling her legs up under her as she reaches for her make-up bag and fumbles with her lip gloss, her hand shaking as she draws the brush from the tube.

She wonders if Brittany can hear how fast her heart is beating, and hopes that she can’t.

“You look pretty as a picture,” Brittany says when she sinks down next to her on the bed and Santana smiles shyly, happy to believe it after the photos she just saw. 

“Thank you,” Santana murmurs, the only thing she can think to say, her mind still stuck on pictures of the two of them hidden on Brittany’s computer.

Brittany smiles a little uncertainly and lies down behind her, curling around her body as her hand finds Santana’s knee and rests there familiarly. She still looks like she doesn’t quite understand why Santana can’t quite meet her eyes, and Santana tries to pretend it’s just because she’s applying her make-up, ignoring the part of her that wants to curl into Brittany’s arms and never let go.

The silence stretches, Brittany watching Santana apply the lip gloss like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen, her thumb rubbing at the hem of Santana’s dress as she leans on her elbow and looks up at her. 

Santana tries to remember how to breathe and keep her hand from shaking.

“There’s an Italian place not too far away,” Brittany says eventually, after she watches Santana finish applying her make-up. “It sounds kind of like Breadstix, actually. Wanna go?”

“Yes,” Santana says, embarrassed when it comes out a little breathless, but Brittany just climbs to her feet and offers Santana her hand with a little dip of her head, half a smile on her face as she pulls her to her feet.

+

Brittany says she’ll drive since she knows the way, and she pulls out into the traffic confidently, one hand on the wheel as she reaches for Santana with the other. Santana watches her driving surreptitiously, hoping Brittany won’t notice, her eyes lingering on Brittany’s face, counting her freckles and promising herself that she’s going to kiss every single one later, when they get back to their hotel.

It doesn’t take long to get to the restaurant, and Brittany looks over at her once she’s found a space and grins when Santana ducks her head quickly, feeling the heat in her cheeks.

“Hey, honey love,” Brittany murmurs, and then she’s leaning over the console to nudge Santana’s chin up with her hand and kiss her, quick and sweet before pulling back and reaching for the door handle.

“What was that for?” Santana asks, but she’s smiling and Brittany scrambles out of the car before she answers, leaning back down into the door, her hair hanging down around her face like a curtain.

“Nothing,” she says sweetly, and Santana shakes her head at her before following her out.

+

The restaurant does remind her of Breadstix, although she’s not sure if that’s because of the way it looks, because Brittany said so, or because she just misses home, and they follow their waitress to a table giddily, sneaking glances at each other and then away like they have a secret. Brittany’s feet are either side of hers under the table the instant they sit down, and the girl asks for their drink order in a bored voice, not even looking at them before telling them she’ll come back for their food order in a minute and disappearing.

“I miss Sandy,” Brittany whispers, and Santana laughs, opening her menu just to stop herself from reaching across the table for Brittany’s hands. 

They’re both silent for a minute while they examine the choices in front of them, and then they look up at the same time, for no reason at all than just to grin at each other.

“I’m gonna get spaghetti,” Brittany says, just the way she always does, and Santana feels something tug at her heart at the familiarity of it, like they could be doing this for years and she’d never get tired of it.

“No shrimp?” Santana asks with a smirk, and Brittany laughs, shaking her head as she sets the menu down in front of her.

“Not when I’m paying. I’m not made of money, y’know,” she deadpans, and Santana laughs in return, reaching across the table to play with the tips of Brittany’s fingers. Brittany’s fingers curl around hers, their fingertips bumping together as Santana rubs her thumb against Brittany’s ring finger absentmindedly.

Brittany smiles at her and Santana smiles back, forgetting the menu in front of her in favour of looking at Brittany instead. She thinks she could look at Brittany forever and never get tired of it.

She only looks away when a young couple are shown to the table next to them, and they watch the same waitress from before smile at them as the boy pulls the chair back for his girlfriend and waits for her to sit. The waitress leans over to light the candle in the middle of their table and asks for their drink order with considerably more enthusiasm than she did for Brittany and Santana, and Santana watches Brittany glance at the unlit candle in the middle of their table sadly before looking back down at her menu.

She isn’t even aware of pulling her hand back until both her hands are in her lap, twisting uncomfortably against each other as she stares at the table, the sound of her breathing suddenly much louder than it was before.

“Maybe I’ll get lasagna,” Brittany says suddenly, in this sad little voice once the silence has started to stretch, and Santana hates herself for sitting back in her seat and wrapping her arms around herself instead of reaching for Brittany’s hand and pulling her out of the restaurant without looking back.

She hates the way the mood has shifted too, how Brittany is slumped down in her seat now like she’s trying to make herself smaller, her arms folded in front of her as she stares at the menu, a frown tugging at her features.

“They’re the names of the pasta, right?” Brittany says suddenly, and Santana is struck by the seriousness of the expression on her face, the way she almost looks pleading.

“Cuz they’re basically the same things if you get the same sauce or whatever just, like, they just look different,” Brittany swallows before she speaks again, and there’s an edge of something in her voice that Santana doesn’t recognise. “How come they’re called different things when they just look different? That’s like... pasta discrimination or something.”

Santana doesn’t know what to tell her; she has a feeling she can’t make this better by reeling off a list of different pastas and telling her that Italians thought it was a good idea. It’s worse because it could be a joke, but it isn’t funny at all, not the way Brittany says it, and Santana shakes her head, allowing herself one more second to hug herself before breathing out shakily and leaning forward, putting her hands down on the table in front of her, closer to Brittany than they were before.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” she asks quickly, eyeing their waitress across the room and the way she’s starting to work her way closer. She holds her breath, waiting for Brittany’s answer. She almost feels like leaving is admitting there’s something wrong—something wrong with them—but if Brittany wanted to go she would, without thinking twice. 

Brittany’s expression turns kind of determined and she shakes her head. “No. I’m taking you out to dinner,” she says firmly. Santana watches her breathe in and out a couple of times, collecting herself. “And I’m getting the fucking spaghetti.” She glances sideways at the boy and the girl at the next table when she says it, almost like she’s challenging them to something.

“Okay,” Santana says, and presses her feet a little closer against Brittany’s under the table, until Brittany starts to smile, just a little, at the corners of her mouth.

+

Their meal is fine, but sort of subdued. Their waitress brings them everything they ask for but she still makes a show of asking the boy and girl how long they’ve been dating and checking up on them more often than she does Brittany and Santana, and they end up eating in silence, glancing at each other every now and then and smiling in a way that doesn’t really reach their eyes.

It’s not that the woman is being particularly horrible to them, it’s just that it didn’t even occur to her that they might be together, and Santana feels invisible and small somehow, in a way she hasn’t for a long time, and she thinks Brittany must feel the same way because she seems to be getting smaller and smaller in her seat even though Santana doesn’t understand how.

She just wants to finish their food and go, and Brittany doesn’t say anything about wanting dessert so she knows she feels it too. Their feet still bump together under the table, secret and half hidden, but Santana keeps her hands to herself and hates it, wondering what would happen if she reached for Brittany’s hand.

She knows Salt Lake maybe isn’t the best place to try, and she hates that even more.

Brittany asks for the check when the waitress comes to take their plates away, Santana staying silent while she nods and says she’ll be right back, and her voice comes out small, the way Brittany’s voice is never small, and her fingers itch with the need to reach for her and make everything better. Brittany keeps glancing at the boy and girl next to them, at the way they’re leaning towards each other and laughing as they hold hands across the table, and then back at Santana, this sad expression on her face that makes Santana’s heart tighten painfully in her chest.

She makes up her mind in an instant and reaches for Brittany’s hand quickly across the table, her fingers tightening around Brittany’s defiantly. Brittany looks down at their hands in surprise and then smiles a little, and she makes a show of holding onto it when their waitress comes back with their check, ignoring the way her eyes widen when she sees them and she hurries off, glancing back over her shoulder like she’s making sure she saw what she thought she did.

Santana glares after her, almost wanting her to say something because then she’d be able to get angry and at least that would be doing something, instead of sitting here unable to do anything at all. 

She watches her go and squeezes Brittany’s hand, “Let’s go back to the hotel, Britt-Britt.”

While they’re waiting to pay they somehow end up behind the boy and girl from the table next to them, and she feels Brittany stiffen when the boy wraps his arm around the girl and pulls her against his side as they joke with the woman behind the register, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

“Gross,” Santana murmurs, but Brittany shakes her head, and after a second her arm snakes around Santana’s waist and pulls her closer too, her fingers settling on her hip, and when Santana looks up at her she looks defiant, something like jealousy lurking behind her eyes.

The couple finish paying and head for the door, and Santana watches them go, wondering if they know how lucky they are, before Brittany lets go of her and pulls her up to pay by her hand.

“How was your food today, ladies?” the woman asks with a polite smile, and Brittany grins broadly as she hands over the money. She makes a show of reaching for Santana’s hand again while she waits for their receipt.

“My girlfriend and I enjoyed it,” Brittany says, still smiling that same weirdly challenging grin, and snatches the receipt out of the woman’s hand when her face falls. “But I think we’ll go somewhere else for our next date.” She turns to Santana and tugs on her hand, “C’mon baby.”

Santana lets Brittany pull her out of the restaurant without saying anything, and it’s not until they get outside and back to the car that Brittany speaks again. “I didn’t leave a tip,” she says, her voice strangely flat, and then she’s leaning into Santana and laughing, only it comes out wrong sounding somehow, sad and more like something else, and Santana wraps her arms around her and holds on tightly, leaning them back against the car door as she waits for her to calm down.

+

They drive back to their hotel in silence, Santana’s hand resting on Brittany’s knee the whole way, and Brittany pulls back into a space and kills the engine quickly, her hand dropping to Santana’s and squeezing before she climbs out. Brittany waits for her to follow, and Santana latches on to her hand as they head down the familiar hallways to their room, her fingers laced through Brittany’s tightly, so tightly she thinks it might hurt, but Brittany doesn’t let go.

Brittany shoves the card into the slot clumsily with her left hand and Santana pushes the handle down with her right after the light comes on, using her other hand to tug Brittany inside. Brittany isn’t moving the way she normally does, her usual effortlessness hampered by stilted steps and clumsy limbs, and it hurts Santana more than anything else, that old ache in her chest coming back and settling there, squeezing painfully.

She lets the door fall shut behind her and pulls Brittany into her arms, her fingers rubbing against the back of Brittany’s neck under her hair as she holds her close with the other arm. Brittany breathes out against her neck, and after a moment, Santana feels her ghost a kiss there, and then another, until she tightens her arms around her and Brittany relaxes into her, squeezing back.

They stay like that for a long moment, comfortable in their silence, until Brittany brushes a kiss against her cheek and pulls away, searching for her bag and sleep clothes before heading to the bathroom.

Santana gets undressed in the room while she’s gone, suddenly tired and not caring about washing her face or getting ready for bed properly. She throws her dress over the back of a chair and slips into her sleep shirt, an old oversized one of Brittany’s that she’s had ever since they went to cheer camp when they were fifteen and it found its way home in her stuff, and takes her contacts out carefully, glad she left her case in her make-up bag for once instead of in the bathroom. She should really take her make-up off, but she finds it hard to care, especially when Brittany comes out of the bathroom and tosses her duffle aside before climbing into bed face down and burying her head in the pillow. 

Brittany doesn’t move until her arms come up and wrap around the pillow, hugging it desperately as she presses her face into it, and Santana forgets about everything else and climbs in after her, half on top of Brittany and half on the mattress. Her arm slides up under Brittany’s sleep shirt as Brittany lies unmoving, her fingers trailing over smooth skin and rubbing comforting circles against Brittany’s spine, her back rising and falling as she breathes.

Brittany’s silent for a moment longer before she speaks, and then she turns her head away from the pillow to look at Santana and whisper, “Salt Lake kind of sucks,” and Santana just laughs, the kind of laugh that means it isn’t really funny but she doesn’t know what else to do, and then Brittany starts to laugh too, until they’re pressed together under the sheets holding each other tightly, shaking with silent not-quite-laughter and trying not to let go.

+

Santana wakes up first in the morning, blinking sleepily until the blonde blur in front of her resolves itself into Brittany, her head pillowed on Santana’s chest as she sleeps next to her, holding on to her tightly. She almost doesn’t want to move, but she needs to go the bathroom so she eases her way out of Brittany’s hold slowly, trying not to wake her. She presses a kiss to Brittany’s forehead before she goes and Brittany shifts, rolling over onto her side and hugging the pillow Santana was using, smiling into it like she thinks it’s Santana, and she has to muffle her chuckle.

She washes her face and brushes her teeth, getting her smeared make-up off from the night before, and feels much better once she’s dressed, inspecting her skin in the mirror for a second before padding back into the other room as quietly as she can to put her things away when she sees that Brittany is still asleep.

They still have a little over an hour before they should leave, and since she’s driving she figures Brittany can sleep in a little longer, because she only needs to get dressed and into the car, most of their stuff already packed and easy to take with them. She sits at the desk and sips one of the bottles of water they bought yesterday, making a face when it’s warm but drinking it anyway, just because there’s nothing else. She reaches for her plans just for something to do, even though they don’t have that much further to go now, just Nevada and then into California, and she feels a little nervous at the thought.

Two days from now she’ll be at college and Brittany won’t be there, and she feels anxiousness twisting her stomach at the thought. She glances back at the bed again, just to reassure herself that Brittany is still there and when she is she looks down at her plans again, wondering why they end when they get to California without instructions for how she’s going to make it through the Brittany-less days.

She checks her plans for the day and tries to push the thought away, because they still have two days before they’ll be apart and she doesn’t want to spend them worrying about what’s going to happen to them after, looking at a list of places that sell food in Elko and where they’re going to stay that night in Reno, making sure everything’s right.

She hears Brittany roll over in the covers behind her, but she doesn’t realise she’s awake until she groans and says, “Santana?” and then she turns in her seat to look at her, her plans still clutching in her hands.

“I’m over here,” she says and grins when Brittany sits up to look at her. She pushes some of her hair out of her eyes and squints against the light.

“Do we have to leave now?” Brittany asks sleepily, and it’s all Santana can do to stop herself from crossing the room and pulling her into her arms, just because of how cute she looks all sleepy and dishevelled.

“Not yet, Britty. I was just looking at my plans so I know where we’re going. You can go back to sleep for a little while if you want,” she shuffles the papers in her hand so that Elko, Nevada is on top and sets them down on the desk. “We’re all packed so you only have to get dressed.”

Brittany yawns again and rubs her hand over her eyes, looking more awake after she’s done so. “I’ll get up,” she says, but she doesn’t move. “In a minute.”

“Go back to sleep, sleepyhead,” Santana says through a grin, and Brittany shakes her head defiantly, throwing the covers back and standing up in one fluid movement, rolling her shoulders and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

She drags her duffle behind her when she goes into the bathroom without bothering to shut the door, and Santana hears the water come on and watches Brittany’s hands and clothes flash past the doorway as she pulls her clothes on, imagining more than seeing what she looks like as she gets dressed. 

It’s not long before before she comes back looking considerably more awake, fresh faced and lovely in clean clothes, and she drops a kiss to the crown of Santana’s head as she reaches for the bottle of water Santana’s drinking from and glances down at her plans, nudging the top page aside with her hand to see the ones underneath.

“Do we need these?” Brittany asks after a moment, shuffling them around on the desk, and Santana resists the urge to gather them up. “I mean, we know where we’re going, right? And we have your GPS so we won’t get lost. I’m sure you can remember the name of the hotel in Reno.”

“But I have, like, places to eat and gas stations and stuff on here,” Santana says quickly, her hand inching out to try and gather the pages back.

“There’s always places just off the interstate,” Brittany shrugs, and tugs the paper a little further away from her. “We were okay in Lexington.”

Santana just stares at her, unsure how to tell her that the idea of ditching the plans makes her stomach twist nervously. “But I wrote it all down.”

Brittany just shrugs again and reaches out to take her hand. “So we’ll find new places.” She rubs her thumb against Santana’s knuckles, the same way she always does when she’s trying to calm her down, and Santana wonders if some of her thoughts are showing on her face. 

“Trust me,” Brittany murmurs.

Her eyes meet Santana’s, clear blue and so open Santana feels like she could fall into them, and all she can think to say is, “Okay.”

+

Brittany carries both their bags when they leave the room, to leave Santana’s hands free so she can check out, and Santana stands just behind her as the door closes, eyes fixed on the plans abandoned in the trashcan by the desk as the door takes them from her sight.

+

They stop for gas near the hotel, and Brittany jumps out to fill up while Santana goes in to see if they have coffee, vaguely wondering why she keeps buying gas station coffee even though it’s awful every damn time. She grabs a couple of bottles of water too, just in case the coffee is really that bad and a diet coke for Brittany, not wanting to inflict the coffee on her again. 

Brittany’s waiting for her in the car when she gets back, and Santana hands her the drinks and watches her toss the water onto the back seat and tuck her coke into the door, eyeing Santana’s coffee with distrust as they wait for the GPS to come on and work out where they are.

They have to drive through the city to get back on to i-80, but the traffic isn’t too bad, and Brittany leans out of the window, watching everything go past. Santana’s still not sure how a place that looks pretty cool on the surface turned out to be the worst place they’ve seen since they left Lima, but Brittany reaches for her hand when they finally hit the interstate and head west, the sun glinting off the lake alongside them, and she suddenly finds it very hard to care.

+

Everything is sort of flat until it’s not, and Brittany takes pictures of it all, until it seems like all Santana can hear is the click of her shutter going off again and again and again. She has to admit it’s pretty, much prettier than the mountains were before, even if the playlist of indie songs blasting out of her stereo is maybe making everything seem a little more magical and happy than it really is. 

Brittany sings along in her seat, her feet bouncing along in time with the drums as Santana joins in with a harmony here and there, and it’s so different to the last time they were driving together, happy and easy and light the way it was always supposed to be, that it makes Santana ache with something she doesn’t know how to say.

She laughs when Brittany turns the camera on her and snaps a picture, grinning stupidly for a second before looking back at the road, stretching on and on in front of them and wondering where it ends.

When Brittany reaches for her hand and tangles her fingers together tightly she almost wishes it never will, and then she holds Brittany’s hand a little tighter, until Brittany glances at her and snaps another picture, capturing the way her expression starts to turn more serious, her smile vanishing from her lips.

+

“I spy with my little eye something beginning with m,” Brittany says, once the novelty of the landscape has started to wear off and they’re starting to get bored of the dusty brown colour stretching out in all directions. 

“Mountains,” Santana says immediately, staring at the raised bumps in front of them and wondering how big a hill has to get before it turns into a mountain. 

“Nope,” Brittany says, smirking a little.

“Uh,” Santana says, glancing around them like she’ll actually be able to see anything else. She runs through their surroundings quickly in her head but comes up at a loss. “Maps,” she says, glancing at her GPS and wondering if that would count.

Brittany grins wider, “Nuh-uh.”

Santana looks out at the landscape again. “Musty dust stuff,” she says lamely, knowing Brittany’s version of this game is always a little more outlandish than the version they’d played as kids.

Brittany laughs, actually laughs, before she says “Not even close.”

She waits for Santana to say something else, and when she doesn’t she flashes a smile again, “Give up?”

Santana sighs, and nods her head, “There’s nothing out there that begins with m!”

“It’s not out there,” Brittany says immediately, like it should be obviously, “It’s in the car.”

Santana tries to think of the things on the back seat but can only think of their overnight bags and the bottles of water from earlier because all of their boxes and stuff are in the trunk, and she wonders if Brittany’s thinking of something in there though she can’t think of what it might be.

“I give up,” she says after a moment, her frustration growing when Brittany grins again.

Brittany gives her fingers a squeeze and half turns in her seat to get a better look at her, savouring the moment before she reveals her secret. “My girl,” she says eventually, grinning proudly as she looks at Santana, until Santana shakes her head and starts to laugh, that happy ache in her chest again as she glances at Brittany out of the corner of her eyes.

+

She pulls off of i-80 when they get to Elko and drives through the town instead, to where she’s sure there are places they can get food and probably a gas station too, and she drives slowly, looking for somewhere to park and something that looks good.

They drive past a bunch of places but Brittany tells her to keep going, until they find a space near the Courthouse and walk back the way they came, their hands tangled together and swinging between them. Brittany guides them, and she seems to know where she’s going, which utterly baffles Santana because she knows neither of them have ever been here before, but she’s happy enough to let herself be pulled along and go wherever Brittany takes her.

They end up in a little coffee shop a block away, Brittany grinning at her while she orders the biggest cup of coffee she can and waits at the end of the counter for it like some kind of addict, taking a sip almost as soon as she gets it even though it burns her tongue.

Brittany gets an iced mocha and carries their sandwiches, and after they look around for a table, Brittany tugs on her hand and pulls her towards the door, telling her that they should eat outside since it’s such a nice day, and Santana nods again, following Brittany as she looks for somewhere to sit that isn’t their car. 

They find a bench by the clerk’s office and settle on it, Brittany sitting indian style facing her while Santana pulls one of her legs up under her and slides along the bench shyly until Brittany’s knees are pressed against her leg, smiling when Brittany hands her a sandwich and rips the bag off her own.

“These are good,” Brittany mumbles round a mouthful of food.

“The coffee’s good,” Santana says immediately, taking another sip and feeling it burn hot all the way down her throat. “We should go back before we leave so I can get another.”

“That’s probably not good for you,” Brittany says, fixing her with a look and tapping her fingers against Santana’s chest. “I don’t want your heart to go crazy.”

Santana wants to tell her her heart is already crazy whenever Brittany looks at her, but she swallows the words and sips her drink, pretending to glare back. “I’ll just get something small. What if I fall asleep before we get to Reno?”

“I’ll kick you,” Brittany says immediately, deadpan as she fights the smile on her face, and Santana shakes her head at her, taking another bite of her sandwich and ignoring the triumphant smile on Brittany’s face.

Brittany kicks her legs out over Santana’s lap as they continue to eat and nudges her with her foot until Santana smiles at her, and then she reaches for Santana’s hand with her own and plays with her fingers while they finish their food, catching her eyes and smiling whenever she does.

+

“Elko’s kinda cool,” Brittany says a little later, when Santana’s playing with the laces on her sneakers with her free hand, the other still tangled with Brittany’s between them.

“California will be even cooler,” Santana promises fiercely, tightening her grip around Brittany’s foot, and Brittany grins, leaning forward quickly to peck a kiss against her lips.

“We can go and get more coffee if you want,” Brittany says once she’s settled back down again, and Santana shakes her head, draining the last of her cup.

“I think I drank too much already,” Santana says and watches Brittany hide a smirk.

Brittany stands and offers Santana her hand, pulling her to her feet and steadying her in her arms for a moment before she lets go. She gathers their empty cups and bags together, and they head over to the trashcan closer to the buildings without even having to say it out loud, Brittany jumping and slamming the bags down into the can like she’s playing basketball and then throws her arms up like she’s celebrating, Santana rolling her eyes fondly when Brittany looks over at her.

They’re just about to turn and head back to the car when a couple comes out of the building in front of them, grinning broadly at each other as the man offers the woman his hand and leads her down the steps, so caught up in each other that they nearly walk into some railings and then burst out laughing when they stop to clutch at each other for support.

Santana’s about to roll her eyes at Brittany, all _look at these idiots_ and then the woman spots them and wriggles out of the man’s grip, taking a step closer and reaching into her bag for something.

“Excuse me?” She calls, as the man trails along behind her. She suddenly has a camera in her hands and holds it out towards Brittany and Santana. “Could you take a picture of us? We just got our marriage licence!” The guy’s grin gets wider behind her, and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her against him until she giggles. “Please,” she adds after a moment, when neither of them take the camera.

Santana just stares at them, frozen for reasons she doesn’t really understand, and Brittany jerks into action next to her suddenly, taking the camera from the woman and stepping backwards until she can get both of them in the shot.

“Santana,” she says after a moment, and Santana starts at the sound of her name, her eyes fixed on the ring on the woman’s finger and the way she and the guy keep grinning at each other, like they have a secret.

“Santana, you’re in the shot,” Brittany looks over the top of the camera at her pleadingly and Santana takes steps backwards quickly, until Brittany nods and looks through the viewfinder again.

“Smile!” Brittany calls, like she even needs to, and Santana hears the sound of the shutter click as Brittany presses the button quickly, her arms held stiffly in front of her like she’s trying to stop them from shaking.

When she’s handed the camera back, the woman wraps her arms around her neck and hugs her quickly, Brittany looking so startled she doesn’t have time to hug back before the woman lets go.

“Thanks!” she says, as the guy takes her hand and leads her away, and Santana stares after them, twisting her ring round her finger and hating them, even though she doesn’t know why.

Brittany’s fingers slide into the gaps between hers quickly and hold tight, stopping her hand, and when she looks over at her, she’s staring at Santana with an anxious expression on her face waiting for her to say something.

“Nice couple,” Santana says, only her voice comes out little above a whisper, and Brittany flinches at the sound of it.

“We’re cuter,” Brittany says, and stares at Santana until she smiles, just a little.

+

Brittany says she’ll drive when they get back to the car and Santana slides into the passenger seat wordlessly, handing her the keys across the console and drawing her knees up under her chin. 

Brittany puts them back on to i-80 and out of Elko, back to brown and grey almost-flat with mountains stretching into the distance as far as they can see, and she reaches for Santana’s hand almost as soon as they’re out of town and she can drive with one hand, an endless stretch of interstate in front of them.

She thumbs over the ring on Santana’s finger and Santana wants to pull away but she doesn’t, just sits there chewing on her lip, remembering a gas station in Wyoming and the way it felt to wake up alone.

+

They’ve been driving for just over an hour when Santana sucks in a breath and blurts out, “Why don’t you want to marry me?” and it hangs between them in the car for a moment, as Brittany’s breath hitches in her throat.

“Is that what you think—?” She breathes out noisily and shakes her head. “God, Santana, no.” Her fingers tighten around Santana’s like she never wants to let go.

Santana feels like a weight has been lifted off of her and swallows a whimper before she speaks, “But you gave me the ring back.” It’s barely above a whisper but she finally says it, her voice even enough, and she watches Brittany shake her head again.

“I’ve wanted to marry you since I was six years old,” Brittany says quickly, the words tripping over each other on their way out of her mouth, and Santana can hear the way there’s almost a sob hidden amongst them, and has to swallow herself.

“I’ve wanted to marry you,” the words catch in Brittany’s throat, “Since I gave you that ring pop and Mike pretended to marry us at recess. I wanted to marry you when you wouldn’t look me in the eye and kept going off with Puck and Sam and all those other boys, and when you kissed me in the dark and thought no one would find out. I wanted to marry you when you told me you loved me in the hallway at school, and when you sang Songbird to me in an empty classroom, and went to prom with Karofsky.”

She pulls her hand away from Santana’s to wipe across her face quickly, clearing her eyes as she stares out at the road. “I wanted to marry you when you gave me that ring and after I gave it back, and when you wouldn’t talk to me in Salt Lake. Why don’t you know that?” She sniffs noisily, and her fingers tighten around Santana’s again. “Why haven’t you always known that?”

Santana hates the way it sounds like an accusation, uncharacteristically harsh as it hangs between them. She reaches for Brittany’s hand again and feels relieved when Brittany lets her take it.

“Brittany...” Santana says quietly, voice deep in the back of her throat. She didn’t know that. She doesn’t know why she was supposed to know that, and she wants to take it all back, the questions and her behaviour in Salt Lake both. She wants to climb across the console to kiss her and mumble apologies against her lips, even though they’re still driving. She wants to tell her how much she loves her and that she wants to marry her too, ever since Brittany gave her that damn ring pop so many years ago.

“I didn’t mean to—” She swallows, trying again. “I just thought—”

“Of course I want to marry you,” Brittany says once she’s taken a couple of breaths and her voice sounds more even. “But we’re eighteen, Santana. We’re not supposed to get married yet.”

Brittany glances over at her, and Santana hates the wetness she can see in her eyes, “You don’t want to get married yet either. It’s only because everyone keeps telling us we should.” She shakes her head, her hand twisting round the wheel, as close to angry as Brittany gets. “Everyone keeps saying how we should get married. Well, I think growing up means you don’t have to do the things adults say you do.”

The silence stretches between them, their fingers still wrapped around each other tightly, and Santana wouldn’t let go now for anything. Her fingers dig into the back of Brittany’s hand, her thumb rubbing against Brittany’s softly, and after a moment she whispers, “Sometimes I—I don’t feel all that grown up,” and shrugs, fixing her eyes on their joined hands between them.

“Sometimes, neither do I,” Brittany says softly, and hearing her say it out loud makes Santana love her all the more, somehow.

+

“Britt?” Santana asks later, when they’re about an hour away from Reno.

“Yeah?” Brittany asks softly, blinking over at her, pulled out of her driving trance.

“We’re gonna get married one day, right?” She holds her breath waiting for Brittany’s answer.

“One day,” Brittany says with a grin, and Santana settles back into her seat and feels the answering smile on her own face.

+

Santana tells Brittany where to get off the interstate in Reno and directs her to where she’s sure there’s a couple of motels, a gas station and somewhere to eat not far out of their way. Brittany picks the motel, and Santana’s surprised when it’s the same one she had written down on her plans, and wonders if Brittany saw it and did that on purpose, just to make her feel better. 

She reaches for Brittany’s hand when they cross the parking lot, reaches with her other arm to grip her elbow, until Brittany glances at her and smiles, ducking her head as she squeezes her hand.

They check in together, Brittany answering most of the questions until Santana steps forward to pay with her credit card, nudging Brittany with her hip so she has to move when she starts to protest, and Brittany laughs, pretending to glare at her the whole time and leaving her to carry her own bag when they go to find the room, sticking her tongue out as she drops it next to her and goes the way the guy points them.

Santana tackles Brittany on to the bed once they’re inside, scrambling on top of her as Brittany pretends to sulk, ignoring her. She huffs out a breath but Santana just laughs and leans down to kiss her lips again and again, until Brittany starts to giggle and kisses her back, her arms coming up to wrap around her as she rolls them over until she’s on top and smirking down at her, and the laughter dies in Santana’s throat.

+

They go back to the burger place they passed on the way in to get food, and Santana actually orders a salad with hers when she sees the choice on the menu just because she feels so bad about how crappily they’ve been eating this week. Brittany rolls her eyes and gets the fries anyway, and they end up sharing them because Santana keeps snaking a hand out to steal them and Brittany gives up trying to push her away. 

“I do legally own half of everything you own,” Santana says quickly when Brittany tries to pull what’s left of her fries away from her, and Brittany looks so startled that she nearly drops them.

It only takes her a second to recover though, and when she does she grins and says, “Not yet you don’t,” before making a grab for her coke.

+

Brittany says she’s tired when they get back, and Santana agrees, and they get undressed together, rummaging through their bags for something to sleep in and bumping their elbows as they try to brush their teeth at the same time. Brittany gets into bed while Santana takes her contacts out and sets her case down at the side of the sink, turning the light off and using her phone to light her way across the room.

Brittany wraps herself around her as soon as she gets in and they’re quiet for a moment, getting used to the feel of each other in the dark, their bodies loosening with sleep.

“We only have two nights left,” Santana whispers after a moment, and feels Brittany snuggle a little closer against her.

“‘Til college?” Brittany murmurs, ghosting a kiss against Santana’s chin, just because.

“‘Til we’re in different places,” Santana says softly, her fingers tightening around Brittany reflexively. “We’re only gonna see each other at weekends.”

“And on skype,” Brittany says quickly, brushing a strand of hair away from Santana’s eyes. “We’ll talk every day.”

Santana doesn’t know how to explain that she’s not sure if she can fall asleep on her own anymore, how she’s not sure if she can even go a day without seeing Brittany never mind five days, even if she has classes every second and other things to fill her time, so she doesn’t even try. She just wordlessly pushes herself up to kiss Brittany, openmouthed and deep as her hand cups her cheek and tries to hold on, Brittany kissing her back just as fiercely, losing themselves in the kiss for just a moment.

Brittany exhales shakily once they break apart, her eyes dark and deep when they meet Santana’s, and she nods a little, like she’s agreeing with something Santana didn’t even say out loud.

They settle back against each other, their fingers grasping each other a little more tightly than they were before.

“Quinn and Mike are leaving Lima tomorrow,” Santana whispers eventually, and Brittany shifts a little, to show she’s listening. Her fingers rub against Santana’s back slowly as they breathe together in the dark. “Sam’ll be all on his own,” she doesn’t know why that makes her as sad as it does.

“He can come and visit,” Brittany murmurs sleepily, pressing a kiss to the underside of her chin. “And Quinn and Mike will be okay, you know. We crossed the whole country and we’re doing okay.”

She settles against Santana more comfortably, her hand sliding up to thread into her hair. “We’re more than okay, Britt,” Santana whispers after a moment, once Brittany’s eyes have fluttered shut.

“Yeah,” Brittany agrees softly, just before she falls asleep. “We are.”

+

She wakes up earlier than should be allowed because her phone is vibrating against the desk noisily and she reaches for it quickly, hoping it hasn’t woken Brittany up. Brittany shifts in the bed, rolling over and away from the noise, her features creasing into a frown as she goes, murmuring something unintelligible and burrowing further into the covers.

Santana watches her go and wishes she could follow, but her phone is still demanding her attention, and she pushes herself up and climbs to her feet quickly, padding over to the bathroom and managing to trip over both of their bags in the dark, so that when she answers the phone the first thing she says is, “Shit.”

“Santana?” It’s Quinn’s voice, and Santana really should have known.

“You know we’re in Nevada right now,” Santana says, rubbing her hand against her face as she closes the toilet seat lid and sits down. “It’s, like, some number of hours earlier out here.” _And way too early to be doing math_ , she adds silently.

“I’m sorry I’m having a crisis in a different timezone,” Quinn snaps back, and Santana can imagine the way she looks, pacing around her empty bedroom or her kitchen while Mike waits by the car saying his goodbyes to Tina.

Santana sighs. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re about to leave,” Quinn says, voice low as she takes another shaky breath. “We’re about to leave and what if I forgot something, or we get lost, or what if the car—” she cuts off suddenly, choking out a laugh.

“Quinn,” Santana says and she can almost hear Quinn’s breathing even out just at the sound of her name. “You’ll be fine, okay? Look what you survived in high school. I’m pretty sure there’s no more bad luck left out there for you.”

“You don’t know that,” Quinn says softly, but Santana carries on before she can say anything else.

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” she says fiercely. “You’re Quinn Fabray! You’re gonna go to Yale and kick its ass.”

“I just really wish you guys were here,” Quinn says after a moment, and the words hang between them delicately, Quinn’s voice low and earnest through the phone. “I could really use a hug from my best friends.”

Santana swallows at the sudden tightness in her throat. “I’m really glad you called, Quinn.”

“Me too.”

They stay on the phone just to hear the sound of each other’s voices, Santana suddenly becoming aware of just how much she’s missed her since they left. They keep talking until Santana hears Mike calling for Quinn and saying they have to leave, and then she makes Quinn put him on the phone for a moment.

“What’s up Santana?” Mike asks, almost sounding wary.

“Drive careful, okay?” Santana whispers, as though Quinn might still be able to hear her. “If Quinn starts getting antsy you have to pull over somewhere and let her walk around for a minute. She still gets sca—“

“I got it,” Mike says easily, and Santana wonders if Quinn is still nearby listening to his side of the conversation. He takes a breath before he says, “How’s Britt?” and it comes out weirdly casual, like it’s more than just a pleasantry.

“Asleep,” Santana says, wondering why he’s asking. “Which is where I should be. It’s like 5am or something. Put Quinn back on?”

She and Quinn murmur a quick goodbye before they hang up, telling each other to be safe and to call often, and Santana stares at her phone in her hand for a moment after she’s gone, wondering why any of them ever thought separating all over the country was a good idea.

+

Brittany wraps herself around her when she gets back into bed, still half asleep as she wraps her arms around her middle and presses herself against Santana’s back, kissing Santana’s neck sloppily through her hair before her breathing gets deep again, and Santana tries to will herself back to sleep.

+

When she wakes up again, Brittany is stretching her arms up over her head next to her, and when she notices Santana blinking sleepily she looks over and grins, rolling over to kiss her good morning. 

“Let’s go to California,” she says with a grin once she’s pulled back and Santana laughs as she tries to pull her out of the bed.

+

They go to the gas station across the street before they leave, and it’s been such a part of their routine for the last week that Santana almost can’t believe this will be the last time she does it for a while, since Brittany will be keeping the car when they get to California and she’ll be relying on buses and trains to get around. Brittany leans out of the window and watches her fill up with a thoughtful expression on her face, almost like she can’t believe it either.

Once they get back on to i-80 and out of Reno the brown of the last couple of days starts to turn green again, the mountains turning into something more like hills as trees dot the landscape on both sides of the road. Brittany reaches for her camera again and Santana listens to the click of the shutter and realises how much she’ll miss that too.

Brittany only stops taking photos for a moment as they cross over the border into California, and Santana takes a deep breath, almost like she’s testing the air.

If she was the kind of person who spoke in clichés she’d say something about it being easier to breathe here, especially after the last couple of days, but she isn’t, so she just sighs it out and keeps driving, biting her lips to keep from smiling too much.

Brittany’s fingers creep into hers and hold on tightly, and when Santana glances over at her she’s grinning so brightly that Santana starts to grin back, until they’re both staring out of their windows and trying to wipe the smiles off their faces.

+

Brittany twists round in her seat when they’re almost at Sacramento and reaches for her bag on the backseat, pulling at the strings until she can get her hand inside. When she turns around she’s got a piece of paper in her hand, and as Santana glances over at it quickly, she recognises it as a page of her plans, ‘Sacramento, CA’ printed in big bold letters at the top.

“Why do you still have that?” Santana asks, sure she saw all her pages in the trash back in Salt Lake.

“It says we have to go to the zoo,” Brittany says, with a shrug like it should be obvious, and Santana remembers looking up things to do in Sacramento, for their last day together before they drive on to Berkeley.

“I thought you wanted to find new places,” Santana says, although she’s pretty sure there aren’t any places left that she didn’t write down.

“What’s better than a zoo?” Brittany says earnestly, and when she reaches over to type the zip code into the GPS, Santana doesn’t argue.

+

The zoo’s full of little kids with their parents and groups of teenagers enjoying the last of their freedom before they have to go back to school, and they walk through them all with their hands clasped tightly between them, pulling one another over to look at certain exhibits and animals, giggling and holding each other close the whole time. 

Brittany buys them both popsicles from a stand and they watch the monkeys while they eat them, the lemurs chasing each other round and round their cage in a blur, as Brittany slings an arm around her waist and pulls her closer and her head is resting against Brittany’s shoulder. 

It’s easy to forget it’s not just another summer day and that they won’t be going back to McKinley in the fall for another year of cheerleading and glee club and sneaking kisses between classes, and it sends a pang through her when she remembers they’ll be in Berkeley soon and that tomorrow she’ll be at Stanford without Brittany to hold on to.

She leans up on her tiptoes to kiss Brittany on the cheek, and then on the lips when Brittany turns into her, her arm tightening around her waist reflexively. “What was that for?” Brittany asks once Santana has pulled away, but she’s grinning just the same.

Santana shrugs. “I love you,” she says, like that could possibly explain it all, but she smiles when Brittany’s grin gets wider, like she knows exactly what she means.

“I love you too,” Brittany says with a little shake of her head, like she can’t believe she has to say it again. “Now let’s get you out of the sun before your brain gets any more screwy.”

Santana laughs, but Brittany drags her away to the shade at the back of the reptile house and presses her back against a tree before she leans down and kisses her, and she forgets why she was laughing.

+

They’re on their way back to the car when Brittany spots the sign for Fairytale Town and comes to a stop, pointing to it excitedly and looking at Santana with puppy eyes, tugging at her hand until she lets Brittany lead her in the direction the sign points.

“Fairytales are boring, Britt,” Santana complains when they get to the gate and join the line, and Brittany looks at her like she’s actually offended before she carries on. “It’s all princes and princesses and stuff for kids. Real life isn’t like that.”

“If you say so,” Brittany says after a long moment, but the way she says it makes Santana step a little closer to her, snuggling into her side until Brittany smiles down at her and presses a quick kiss to her forehead.

“Maybe it’d be better if there was a fairy tale about two princesses,” Santana grouses, and watches Brittany’s lips quirk up into a smile.

“Cheerleaders,” she says softly, rubbing her thumb against Santana’s as their hands swing between them. “I think they’d be cheerleaders,” and then bursts out laughing when Santana looks up at her like she can’t believe she’s being so cheesy.

“They’d get their happy ending too,” Brittany adds after a moment, sliding her arm around her waist to grasp at her hip, and after she finishes rolling her eyes, Santana leans into her and can’t find it in her to disagree.

They’re the only people in the line without kids, and when they get to the guy in the kiosk he just shakes his head at them and points to a sign over his head. “Sorry, no adults allowed in without a child,” and looks behind them for more paying customers.

Brittany frowns at him as Santana tugs her away and back towards their car. “Sorry, Britty,” she shrugs once they’ve gotten far enough away to not be able to see the gate any more, and Brittany turns to look at her, surprise registering on her face.

“I don’t care about not being able to get in,” she says quickly, glancing back the way they’ve come. “That guy called us adults!” And then they both burst out laughing and collapse against each other, and Santana’s pretty sure she’s never felt more like a kid in her life.

+

Brittany drives because she says she should get used to it, and Santana sits in the passenger seat next to her, twisting her hands together nervously as she peers through the window. They stay on i-80 so they can see the bay, and Santana stares wide-eyed as Brittany tries to keep her eyes on the road, both her hands on the wheel as she steers them through the traffic.

When they stop at a red light and Brittany leans over in her seat to get a better look, Santana’s sure she’s never seen anything more beautiful, and she reaches for Brittany’s hand and squeezes quickly before Brittany has to put the car into drive again.

They pass bus stops and the ends of roads that Santana knows hide BART stations and she tries not to let her eyes linger, knowing she’ll be getting familiar with them by the end of the year. She wonders how much time she’ll spend on buses and trains and travelling, and if it’ll be more or less than the time she gets to spend with Brittany, and then pushes the thought away, not wanting to ruin their last night together.

She already feels like something is shifting between them. It’s in how their hands grip each other a little too tightly and how they keep glancing at each other, just to make sure they’re still there. She swallows and tries to push it all away, to concentrate on the fact that she’s in Berkeley with Brittany and about to start the next phase of her life, but that’s kind of scary too, and she clings to Brittany’s hand and wishes she never had to let go.

+

Brittany finds her apartment easily enough and she scrambles out of the car quickly to go and press the buzzer, Santana following more slowly and hovering by the car while she waits for the door to open. 

It’s not long before Brittany’s being hugged enthusiastically by a red haired girl Santana almost recognises from Brittany’s dance classes and Brittany is waving her over, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her closer. “You remember Jenny, right?” She says to Santana, and Santana nods even though she doesn’t really at all.

“And you must be Santana,” Jenny says, offering her a hand to shake, which Santana takes shyly. “Brittany never would shut up about you.”

“Shut up, Jenn,” Brittany blushes, looking down at the ground when Santana grins like it’s the best thing she ever heard.

“We weren’t even dating when you two danced together,” Santana says teasingly, but Brittany just ducks her head and shakes it, shooting a glare at Jenny as she laughs.

“It’s cute, really,” Santana adds, a little bit more sincere as she leans in to kiss her cheek.

“Okay,” Brittany says, mollified, before turning to look at Jenny again, “But you still get to carry the heavy stuff.”

Jenny laughs good naturedly and follows them back to the car, reaching for a box of kitchen stuff before disappearing back towards their apartment, and Santana decides right then and there that she likes Jenny, and won’t mind hanging out with her on the weekends, every now and then.

Santana grabs their overnight bags and Brittany’s camera, waiting for Brittany to pull her suitcase out of the car, her eyes lingering on the muscles in Brittany’s arms as she lifts it, until Brittany catches her staring and gives her a push towards the building and Santana starts to laugh, shrugging a little like she doesn’t care that she’s been caught. Anyone would be staring the way Brittany looks lifting things in that t-shirt, and Brittany’s her girlfriend so she figures she gets a free pass, especially since it’s the last time she’ll see her lift something for a while.

She tries not to think of all the lasts and wonders if she should start counting firsts instead; the first time they get to do all these things for the rest of their lives, turning the simplest of hand holds and kisses into something magical instead of something sad.

Brittany’s apartment is on the second floor but it doesn’t take all that long to carry her stuff in between the three of them, and Jenny gives them a quick tour, showing them to Brittany’s bedroom and pointing the way to the bathroom before saying she’ll get out of their way.

“I’m gonna go meet some friends,” Jenny says, fishing into a bowl on the coffee table and coming up with a key that she hands to Brittany, who takes it carefully, cradling it in her hand. “There’s take out menus and stuff in the drawer in the kitchen if you wanna order in.”

“Thanks, Jenn,” Brittany says sincerely, and she offers them one last grin before disappearing through the door, tossing a goodbye over her shoulder as she goes.

“She seems nice,” Santana says once they’re settled on the couch, ignoring unpacking for the moment in favour of snuggling up together, Santana half on top of Brittany as they fit themselves around each other and sink into the cushions. “And the apartment’s pretty cool.”

“Jenn used to help me a lot in class,” Brittany says, rubbing her fingers against Santana’s back, “When we were younger. We made it into the advanced classes together when we were twelve and she helped me that summer I grew three inches and couldn’t make my legs work right, remember?”

Santana nods, “I didn’t realise you knew her that long.”

Brittany shrugs and pulls her a little closer, smoothing her hair away from her eyes, “We only saw each other in class cuz she went to a different school. We were, like, weekend friends.”

“Like us now,” Santana says before she can stop herself and Brittany’s arms tighten around her, her face dropping when she realises what she said.

“I didn’t mean—” Brittany says quickly and Santana presses her hand to her mouth to cut her off.

“I know you didn’t, it’s okay,” they lie there in silence for a minute, Santana rising and falling with Brittany’s chest as she breathes in, listening to the sound of her heart.

+

Their unpacking only goes as far as getting the sheets on to the bed and half of Brittany’s clothes into the wardrobe, and then Brittany pads off to get the take out menus and bring them back to Santana sitting cross legged on the bed. They order thai, Brittany’s new address tripping off her tongue, and half heartedly unpack a few more things while they wait for it to arrive, Brittany putting her computer and camera on her desk, while Santana pulls a couple of plates out of the box in the kitchen and fills some glasses with water from the jug she finds in the fridge. 

Brittany finds her after she’s been to put her washbag in the bathroom and helps her unpack the rest of the box, figuring since it’s in a shared space, Jenny might get mad if she comes home to a box sitting on the counter, and by the time they’ve finished their food is there, and Brittany goes down to get it, pushing the cash Santana tries to give her away.

They eat curled up together on the couch, both exclaiming over how good it is as they feed each other with chopsticks, swapping boxes as they stay close. It makes it hard to eat but Santana doesn’t care, because she’s suddenly realising just how little time they have left together and how this is the last time they’ll get to sit like this for a week, and then she presses herself closer until Brittany rolls her eyes and drops her chopsticks to pull her closer, dropping a kiss to her forehead as she holds her.

Brittany cleans the plates while Santana gathers the trash, and when they’re done, Brittany smiles at her shyly and takes her hand to lead her back into her bedroom, guiding her around the boxes on the floor until she can pull her down next to her, so they’re sitting side by side on the edge of the bed.

“It’s still early,” Brittany says softly, playing at entwining the fingers of their hands together, and Santana glances at the clock Brittany had unpacked earlier and sees that she’s right. “Do you want to go exploring?” Brittany asks, turning to look at her, and Santana shakes her head, dropping her head down to rest against her shoulder.

“What do you want to do?” Brittany asks, and then Santana wraps her arms around her, hugging her tightly as she presses herself into her side.

“Just this,” she says against her shoulder, as Brittany starts to turn into her, her arms coming up to cradle her, holding them together. “Just this.”


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s just her and Santana, and that’s all she really needs.

She keeps waking up in the night, and it takes her sleepy brain a moment to remember where she is. The closet isn’t where she expects it to be and the set of drawers casts shadows over the bed that she’s not used to, and all of a sudden the only thing she recognises is Santana, black hair somehow blacker against the darkness.

She doesn’t know what she’ll recognise when Santana’s at Stanford and she’s all alone.

She reaches for her quickly, something like panic bubbling up in her chest, but she barely has to move her hand until she finds her, curled towards her with her head on the very edge of Brittany’s pillow, her breathing deep and even. She’s so close that Brittany could lean forward and kiss her if she wanted to, but she settles for sliding her hand down to rest on Santana’s hip under the covers, thumbing over the bone as she moves her other hand above Santana’s head and moves closer, Santana’s legs tangling into hers in her sleep, like they can’t help themselves.

Santana sighs, this contented little noise that cuts straight to Brittany’s heart, and shifts closer, a clumsy arm looping around Brittany’s waist, her fingertips pressing into her back for a moment before her hand goes loose again.

Brittany drifts in and out of sleep, falling in and out of dreams of Santana and roads and rings and motels. Every time she wakes up Santana is even closer than she was before so first she has her arm looped around her waist and then she has her leg thrown over her hip, her forehead bumping against Brittany’s lips each time either of them breathes. She’s not sure if Santana’s the one moving or if it’s her arms pulling Santana closer, but the last time she wakes up, some time around 4am, Santana wakes up as well and blinks up at her, trying to make sense of how close they are, legs tangled together as they hold on tight.

Brittany watches the sleep haze fade from her eyes.

“Britt?” Santana whispers after a moment, voice scratchy and deep, and presses her fingers against Brittany’s jaw like she’s reassuring herself that she’s there.

“I’ve got you,” she says, and watches Santana nod a little, almost to herself.

“Stay there, Britty,” Santana mumbles, her fingers curling into Brittany’s hair as her eyes flutter closed.

She doesn’t want to do anything else.

Santana’s breathing goes deep again, and though Brittany closes her eyes she can’t seem to turn her brain off to find sleep, so she ends up peering down at Santana and watching her instead, her fingers tracing shapes through her hair as her other arm holds her close, wishing she never had to let go.

Santana looks so beautiful that she almost can’t stand it. Her eyes move under her eyelids and Brittany wonders what she’s dreaming about, if she’s dreaming about the two of them in some wonderful place together, pinky fingers curled around each other wherever they are so they don’t lose each other.

(Like they ever could.)

“I love you,” Brittany whispers as softly as she can, hoping it doesn’t wake Santana up, just because she needs to sometimes when it feels like it’s so big inside of her that she thinks she might die from it if she doesn’t say it out loud.

“I love you,” she murmurs again and again and again, only it doesn’t feel like it’s getting any smaller.

It doesn’t feel like it’s getting any smaller at all.

+

“Britt?” Santana murmurs, later.

Her eyes flutter open and Brittany moves her fingers against her spine, to show she’s listening, “Mmm?”

“I love you too,” Santana says, blinking the sleep from her eyes as her fingertips find the hinge of Brittany’s jaw.

Brittany closes her eyes and leans into the touch.

“I love you too,” Santana says again, like she’s trying to make her understand, and there’s something a little bit desperate in the sound of it.

When Brittany opens her eyes, Santana is staring up at her steadily, brown eyes fixed on blue, something dark and unreadable hiding inside them.

Brittany always understands.

Brittany closes the space between them without a second thought, her hand finding Santana’s cheek as her other slides down and settles in the small of Santana’s back, pulling her closer against her until their hips fit together and Santana gasps into her mouth. It’s slow and soft, both promising things they hope the other can feel, openmouthed and full of need in a way that makes something flip over in Brittany’s belly.

It’s like every kiss they’ve ever shared and every kiss yet to come, even though she doesn’t understand how that’s possible when it’s just her and Santana, when it’s always just her and Santana and none of the rest matters, not the bed that’s supposed to be hers, or the room she doesn’t recognise, or the city she’s never been to before but she lives in now.

It’s just her and Santana, and that’s all she really needs.

+

The alarm on Santana’s cellphone goes off at 7am, and Santana rolls away from her for a second to kill it before coming back and settling against her again.

“I have to go to Stanford,” she says, and Brittany brushes a strand of hair away from her eyes, nodding softly.

They’re silent for a minute, their breathing the only sound in the room.

“I don’t want to,” Santana admits, pressing her face into Brittany’s chest so her words come out muffled.

Brittany rubs her fingers against Santana’s spine and feels her relax, and she presses a kiss to Santana’s forehead when she finally looks up and watches the smile quirk at the corner of her mouth, there for just a second before it’s gone.

“It’s just for a year,” Santana says, more of a question than she probably intended. “It’s just for a year and then we can find some place together, right? We can live halfway and see each other every day and come home to each other at night and—”

“Of course,” Brittany says softly, her thumb stroking against Santana’s cheek. “We have forever, Santana. One year apart isn’t the end of the world.”

“Then why does it feel like it,” Santana says, and then they’re kissing again.

+

She’s not used to the way the morning light comes through the shades that are hers now, at how it glints off Santana’s skin, revealing and hiding her all at once. It’s like she’s finding Santana in the dark the way she always did, but better and different and more all at once, because she comes looking into Santana’s eyes, their fingers moving to the same rhythm as their hips rock together, Santana gasping after her as she follows, murmuring Brittany’s name as her fingers dig into her skin like they never want to let go.

+

“We have to get up,” Brittany says, after.

She tries to move but Santana’s arms tighten around her, and she feels the warm press of her all down her side. “I wish—I wish we could stay here forever,” Santana says, and Brittany remembers another night, just after graduation, where they’d laid together in another bed and wanted the same thing.

“We have to get up,” Brittany says again, tracing swirling patterns over Santana’s skin, and Santana shivers under her touch. “We have to get up so you can go learn how to be a doctor or a lawyer or a whatever-you-want, so this year goes faster instead of slower and we can live together in the next one, so we can wake up like this every morning and not believe how lucky we got.”

Santana still looks doubtful, and Brittany tries to smooth out the frown from her forehead with her fingertips. “We have to get up so we can shower together before you leave,” Brittany says, straightfaced the same way she said the other things, and Santana smirks up at her, her eyes flashing.

“Okay,” she says immediately, “But next time you should probably lead with that.”

And then they’re both laughing as Brittany tries to shove her off, huffing like she’s all offended while Santana clings to her tighter, pressing wet, sloppy kisses to her face as she laughs against her skin.

+

They stay close to each other without really talking about it, never further than an arm’s length away, and they keep brushing their fingers against each other’s skin absentminded, like they’re checking they’re still there.

Brittany tries hard not to think about the times she’ll reach for Santana and she won’t be there, just takes her hand and leads her towards the bathroom in their hastily thrown on pajamas and hopes Jenny won’t catch them.

They wrap themselves around each other in the shower, staying close as the water covers them and keeps them warm, laughing as they steal kisses and wash the shampoo from each other’s hair, Brittany’s fingers untangling the strands reverently as she strokes through them, making sure all the suds are gone.

Santana’s eyes are wide as she watches Brittany’s face carefully, standing perfectly still as Brittany works through her hair. Brittany’s hand moves to cup the hinge of Santana’s jaw when she’s done and tilts her head up until she can kiss her, soft and warm and wet. It’s the kind of kiss that lingers but doesn’t deepen, and after a moment Santana pulls away to rest her forehead against Brittany’s.

“Thank you, Britty,” she mumbles, and Brittany’s not sure that she’s only talking about washing her hair.

+

They get dressed in silence, Brittany pulling on shorts and a t-shirt while Santana pulls on brown pants and a tank top, and reaches for the white jacket she threw over the back of Brittany’s desk chair the night before, the last clean outfit she has left from her overnight bag. Brittany watches Santana fuss at her top for a moment, smoothing it down as she peers down at herself critically, and she just shakes her head, wondering when Santana’s going to realise how amazing she looks, no matter what she’s wearing.

Brittany slides her arms around Santana’s waist from behind and rests her head against her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. She knows Santana wears certain outfits like armour but the only reassurance she can think to give her is, “You look beautiful,” and after a moment she feels Santana relax back against her so she’s almost but not quite holding her up.

They stand there for a moment, Santana’s fingers finding Brittany’s hands at her waist and covering them, until Brittany laces their fingers together and tugs her towards the door.

“Let me make you breakfast,” she says, and then comes to a stop so that Santana bumps into her.

“I don’t have any food,” she says, and then they’re both laughing again even though Brittany isn’t even sure what’s funny.

+

Jenny’s already in the kitchen when they get there, eating her way through a bowl of cereal as she flicks through a newspaper. She glances up when they stop in the doorway, still joined at the hand and smirks. “I thought I heard you two in the shower,” she says, and Brittany watches Santana blush and feels the heat in her own cheeks.

Santana opens her mouth but no words come out and Brittany is just as lost, wondering if maybe showering with your girlfriend is something you’re supposed to discuss the etiquette of before it happens rather than after.

“Relax,” Jenny says, rolling her eyes at them. “We’re all adults here. I’m not shocked and appalled to discover that you two have seen each other naked you know.”

“Sorry if we woke you up,” Brittany offers and watches Jenny shake her head.

She rinses her bowl and drops it in the sink, offering them a smile, “You didn’t. There’s cereal in the cupboard over there if you want it,” she says pointing.

“Are you sure?” Brittany says quickly, “Because we could—”

“It’s just cereal, Britt,” Jenny shrugs, and shuffles the pages of her newspaper together so she can scoop them up. “There’s milk in the fridge,” she tosses over her shoulder as she squeezes past them and disappears into her room. After a moment they hear her door open and close and then footsteps heading for the bathroom.

“She’s kind of awesome,” Santana says as Brittany fixes them the cereal. “I hope my roommate is cool too.” Brittany hears the nervousness hiding just behind her words.

“If she’s not you can come live here with us,” Brittany says with a grin, pouring less milk into one bowl and sliding it towards Santana. “Jenny probably won’t care.”

“Promise,” Santana asks as she picks up her spoon, her eyes fixed on the cereal in her bowl like she can’t bring herself to meet Brittany’s eyes.

“Pinky promise,” Brittany says solemnly and feels Santana relax into her side.

+

Brittany tugs the car keys out of Santana’s hand when it’s time for them to leave, smiling when Santana starts from her thoughts and looks over at her.

“Let me drive,” she says softly, reaching for Santana’s hand after she shuts the door behind them and Santana just nods and lets herself be pulled along.

Brittany opens the car door for her when they get downstairs, just because, and holds it open until Santana’s all the way inside before shutting it and coming around to the driver’s side. She takes her time fastening her seatbelt and typing the zipcode into the GPS, and Santana shifts nervously in the passenger seat, twisting her hands together in her lap.

“Ready?” Brittany asks when she’s done, and watches Santana swallow.

“No,” Santana says, only Brittany thinks she sounds like she’s joking, and she twists the key in the ignition and pulls out into the road.

They’re quiet but not uncomfortable as they head around the bay towards Stanford, their fingers laced together across the console as Brittany glances at the GPS and then at the signposts, like she’s checking they match.

It’s weird to think that this is the last time they’ll be in the car together after all the time they spent there the last week, and Brittany glances down towards the cupholder, and then across to Santana’s hands still twisting together in her lap while they wait at a red light. Santana catches her gaze and reaches for her hand, and Brittany grins at the shy smile on Santana’s face.

“Hi,” Santana says, and Brittany’s smile widens in response.

“Hey,” she says, and waits for the light to turn green.

+

The traffic gets heavier the closer they get, and Brittany watches Santana watch the other cars, glancing at them quickly and away like she doesn’t want to look too close. Brittany squeezes her fingers tightly as they follow the directions of the over enthusiastic upperclassmen in red t-shirts, driving slowly behind a trail of cars as they head for Stern Hall.

Santana peers out of the window at the buildings all around them, trying to take it all in, and Brittany can almost see her struggling to remember it all and remember the way they came.

“We’ll find a map once we park,” Brittany says softly, and Santana looks over at her in surprise, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“How do you do that?” Santana asks, something like awe in her voice, and Brittany shrugs, considering.

“You think loud,” is all she says, offering Santana a lopsided smile as they pull over into a space near Santana’s dorm. “And I know how to listen to you, so.”

“You’re magic,” Santana says and Brittany grins wider, that too big feeling building inside her again.

“For my next trick, I’ll find your dorm room,” Brittany says, waving her arms a little before reaching for the door. She waits for Santana to follow her out of the car and come round to meet her, glancing towards the building in front of them and the people in red shirts standing by the doors.

“Can we—can we explore a little bit first?” Santana asks after a moment, struggling to find the words. “It’s still early and if we go inside it’s closer to the time you have to leave,” she says, voice tiny, and Brittany reaches for her hand, thumb rubbing against the spaces between her knuckles without thinking about it.

“There were shops back that way,” Brittany says, “We could go get a bottle of water or something.”

She offers Santana her hand and waits for her to take it.

“Okay,” Santana says, her fingers sliding into the gaps between Brittany’s easily.

+

They find their way to a couple of shops and a wide open space filled with students, new and old. There are more people than there ever were at McKinley, and Brittany feels Santana’s hand tighten in hers as they stand there for a moment watching everyone.

“They all look like they know where they’re going,” Santana says, and Brittany glances towards her quickly, nudging her with her shoulder.

“I think they’re just pretending,” Brittany says, and Santana nods a little although she doesn’t look like she quite believes it.

People keep pushing flyers into their hands for everything from themed parties to reading groups, and when a girl with short spiky hair shoves a flyer for the LGBT Community Resources Center into their hands with a grin, Santana just raises her eyebrows and laughs while Brittany peers down at it, all interested.

“But how did she know?” Brittany whispers theatrically, and Santana just uses their joined hands to pull her closer and press a quick kiss to her lips.

“Oh,” Brittany says, lips quirking into a grin as Santana laughs and curls into her, the flyer still clutched in her hand.

+

They buy two bottles of water and then Brittany tugs them towards the gift shop when she sees a girl and her parents come out carrying a brand new Stanford sweatshirt, even though Santana protests and says she doesn’t care about buying something.

“You’re not at college until you have the sweater to prove it,” Brittany says and Santana just rolls her eyes, about to argue before Brittany cuts her off. “And you look so good in red,” she says with a little pout until Santana just smiles and shakes her head.

“So what am I buying?” she asks, and Brittany laughs, reaching for a sweatshirt.

“This,” she says, holding it up for Santana’s inspection. It’s a red hoodie with Stanford emblazoned across the chest in white, and Santana just nods, happy to go along with whatever Brittany suggests.

Brittany holds it up against herself for just a second, glancing down to see what it looks like and watches Santana’s eyes narrow a little.

“That looks a little big,” Santana says after a second, and Brittany paints an innocent expression onto her face.

“I’m your girlfriend, I know what size you wear, Santana,” Brittany says, and drags her towards the clerk before she can argue again.

+

Brittany carries the bag when they get outside and reaches for Santana’s fingers with her free hand, smiling happily when Santana grins to herself and shakes her head, her eyes shining whenever she sneaks a glance at Brittany.

“You’re a real college student now,” Brittany says on the way back to the car, because she knows how Santana feels about uniforms and clothing and fitting in, and watches Santana shake her head.

“It’s just a sweatshirt, Britt,” Santana says with a shrug, coming to a stop once they find their car hidden amongst all the others, and Brittany reaches for her cheeks to pull her closer and kiss her, soft and sweet, Santana’s bottom lip between both of hers before she can stop herself.

Santana’s hands go to her hips and she sighs into the kiss, standing up on her tiptoes so they’re the same height. It’s a long moment before either of them pulls back, but they stay close, Brittany opening her eyes to find Santana smiling at her, her eyes dark and shining.

“What was that for?” Santana asks, leaning back against the car a little and pulling Brittany with her, and Brittany just shrugs and grins, pressing a tiny kiss to the very corner of Santana’s mouth.

“Nothing,” she says, and Santana just shakes her head like she can’t believe she ever got so lucky.

“I love you,” she says, and Brittany grins wide.

“I know,” she says and laughs when Santana gives her a shove.

+

Santana shows the people by the door her paperwork and they direct her towards her new dorm room, one floor up and around a couple of corners. There’s no sign of a roommate, and Brittany watches Santana hover between the beds for a second like she doesn’t know what to do.

“Should I just pick a bed?” Santana asks eventually, “Or should I wait until my roommate shows up?”

Brittany shrugs, “You’re over thinking again,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around Santana’s waist. “Let’s just bring your stuff in and see what happens.”

“Okay,” Santana says, and lets Brittany pull her back towards the door.

She doesn’t have that many boxes of stuff, and it only takes them three trips to get it all inside. Brittany collapses onto one of the beds once they’re done, bouncing on the mattress before she comes to a stop, and Santana watches her for a second before she sits down next to her.

Brittany flops onto her back and reaches for her hand, rubbing her thumb against her knuckles. “I pick this bed,” she says and Santana nods, leaning down to kiss her, her hair hanging around them like a curtain and blocking everything out so that all Brittany can see is Santana.

“We should hang a sock on the door,” Brittany murmurs against her lips, her hand sliding up to tangle into her hair, and Santana laughs and pulls away.

“No way,” Santana says with a laugh, “I’m coming to visit you; you have your own room.”

“Promise,” Brittany says, and Santana’s grin widens.

“Pinky promise,” she says and Brittany pulls her down so she can kiss her again.

+

They’re halfway through unpacking the boxes and stashing Santana’s clothes away in her newly-claimed closet when a key rattles in the door and it opens, and Santana looks up quickly, nerves evident on her face.

“Um hi,” a pretty dark haired girl says, eyes sliding over the pair of them quickly as she freezes in the doorway. “I’m Katy. Are you—I guess one of you is my roommate?” She takes a step inside and looks around, glancing at Santana’s stuff laid out on one side of the room and dropping the bag she carries onto the other bed.

“Me,” Santana says quickly. “I’m Santana, and this is my girlfriend Brittany.”

“Hi,” Brittany offers with a grin.

Katy doesn’t even blink at this information and Brittany decides right then and there that she likes her, “My boyfriend’s here too. He’s living in Wilbur so he’s moving his stuff in before he comes over here.”

“Brittany goes to Berkeley but don’t hold it against her,” Santana says, and laughs when Katy pretends to recoil in horror, a grin on her face.

“So you have a little Romeo and Juliet thing going on,” Katy says, gesturing between them and then frowning to herself. “Juliet and Juliet?”

“Something like that,” Santana says, glancing at Brittany out of the corner of her eye, and Brittany squeezes her hand before she lets it go to pull the photographs Santana had brought with her out of the almost empty box, glancing at the pictures of the two of them through the years, some alone and some with their friends, but always happy and together.

“Yeah,” she echoes, “Something like that.”

+

The boxes don’t take that long to unpack, and pretty soon there’s nothing but the Stanford sweatshirt in a bag and nothing else to occupy their hands. Santana’s hand creeps into hers, and when she looks up she has that same summer-sadness on her face from before they left Lima, and all Brittany wants to do is kiss it away.

Katy has disappeared to get more of her stuff, but she could be back at any moment, and Brittany pulls Santana to her quickly, kissing her hard, one hand tangling into her hair as the other slides down to the small of her back.

When they break apart, Santana bumps her forehead against hers and sighs out a breath. “Do you have to go?” she asks and Brittany’s fingers tighten in her hair and against her back, wishing they could stay.

“One week,” Brittany says softly. “It’s only a week.” Only it sounds more like forever, the way she says it. “You won’t even know I’m gone.”

“I will,” Santana says quickly, but she lets Brittany go, her hands falling to her sides as she forces herself to take a step back.

They stare at each other for a moment longer, neither of them quite sure what to say, until Santana turns to pull the bag with the Stanford sweatshirt off of her desk and offers it to Brittany.

“You forgot something,” she says with a half smile.

Brittany grins and reaches inside for the hoodie, tugging at the tags until they come off and she can pull it over her head, despite the heat. It’s a little big but it fits, just like she knew it would.

“How did you know?” she says, and Santana smirks.

“You like baggy sweatshirts,” she says, and reaches up to adjust the hood slightly. “Just don’t wear it at Berkeley.”

“I’ll wear it all the time I’m not with you,” Brittany says, and she means every word.

+

It’s Katy coming back that forces them to untangle themselves from each other, and Katy flashes them a sympathetic look as she edges towards the door again, not even thinking of an excuse before she leaves.

“I love you,” Santana whispers urgently, like she really needs to say it in case Brittany forgets, and Brittany feels her breath catch in her throat, that too big feeling back in her chest.

“I love you too,” she replies, and kisses her once more, hard and fast and desperate before she forces herself to turn and walk away.

She hears Santana’s breath hitch behind her but she doesn’t look back, just presses her hand to her heart and keeps walking, telling herself that it’s only a week, it’s only a week, tugging at her brand new sweatshirt and counting down the seconds until she’s in Santana’s arms again.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany asks Santana to marry her for the first time when she’s six years old, toeing the ground with the tip of her sneaker and holding out a red ring pop shyly as Santana’s eyes widen and sweep down to stare at it.

Brittany asks Santana to marry her for the first time when she’s six years old, toeing the ground with the tip of her sneaker and holding out a red ring pop shyly as Santana’s eyes widen and sweep down to stare at it.

“Only grown ups get married, Britt,” Santana says, moving a little so she can close her fingers around the candy and fiddle with it.

“Only people who love each other get married,” Brittany corrects her gently, wrapping her hand around Santana’s to pull the ring pop closer and lick her tongue out to taste it. She hums happily and grins at Santana, who pulls the candy back and sucks on it thoughtfully.

“Okay,” she says after what seems like a long time. “I’ll marry you Britty.”

+

Santana asks Brittany to marry her for the first time when they’re sixteen years old and halfway through the fifth of tequila Puck swiped from his mom and has somehow managed to keep from the rest of the football players at Matt Rutherford’s house.

She tastes like tequila when Brittany kisses her, and she murmurs into Brittany’s mouth happily, unintelligible things that Brittany can’t decipher but likes the sound of, like secrets Santana is hiding in her kisses and only she gets to know.

She stumbles a little when Brittany pulls her into a bathroom and bursts out laughing when she nearly trips into the bathtub, holding onto the side as Brittany fits herself against her back and wraps her arms around her waist, swaying a little with the effort of holding herself up.

“S’dangerous in here, Britt,” Santana giggles again and turns her head to bump against Brittany’s.

“We should find a bed,” Brittany suggests, sliding her hand up Santana’s stomach under her shirt.

“We should get a bed,” Santana says like the idea is only just occurring to her. “It wouldn’t be dangerous if we had our own bed.”

“We’d need, like, a house to put it in,” Brittany giggles against her neck, dragging her lips over Santana’s pulsepoint and feeling her shiver a little in response.

“We should just get married,” Santana whispers, like it’d solve everything, and Brittany’s yes is lost against her lips.

+

The second time Brittany asks Santana to marry her, they’re eighteen and tangled up together on a sun lounger by Quinn’s pool towards the end of the summer, watching the way the string of lights around the deck glint off the water in the dusk. Quinn is inside ordering pizza and Santana keeps edging closer, until there’s no space between their bodies and they’re breathing the same air.

“The lights are really pretty,” Santana murmurs softly, and Brittany can feel the words vibrating through her skin from where Santana’s forehead rests against her cheek.

“You’re really pretty,” Brittany says back through a smile, and watches Santana blush prettily.

“Britt…” Santana murmurs, and presses a kiss to her cheek. Brittany turns her head to find her lips, kissing her sweet and slow, until Santana’s smiling so much she has to break the contact.

“We should have lights like that when we’re older,” Brittany says into her hair, like there’s been no break in the conversation, then lowers her voice a little. “Or, like, at our wedding. We should totally get married in the summer. The summer’s the best.”

Santana looks up at her through her eyelashes, eyes shy and dark, “We should?”

Brittany nods and brushes a lock of hair out of Santana’s eyes, “We should.”

“Okay,” Santana says shyly, finding her eyes and smiling for a second before she looks away.

+

Santana thinks she asks Brittany to marry her at a gas station in Wyoming, and it takes them two whole days to sort out the mess.

+

The second time Santana asks Brittany to marry her, Brittany’s dragged Santana with her to some sort of mixer in the Theater, Dance and Performance Studies department, because she didn’t want to go alone. Brittany introduces Santana to some of her friends, and then Santana excuses herself to go to the bathroom and takes forever to come back.

At first, Brittany thinks that maybe Santana’s got lost, because this is only the second time she’s visited Berkeley since they matriculated, but then Brittany spots her cornered by the bar, talking to some guy and looking like she’s desperately trying to get away. She edges closer, close enough so that Santana can grab her and breathe, “Just be my wife for a minute,” into her ear.

The guy looks like all his Christmases have come at once, and Santana rolls her eyes so hard Brittany thinks they might fall out of her head. She’s about two seconds away from punching him in the middle of the bar when Brittany pulls her back towards her friends, lacing their fingers together and holding her hand tightly so she can’t go back for him.

“So I’m your wife now?” Brittany asks, just before they find her friends and Santana smirks a little as she puts some swagger into her steps.

+

The third time Brittany asks Santana to marry her, Brittany’s exhausted from rehearsals for the TDPS’s latest musical and all her limbs feel too heavy, so that it was a chore just to walk and she nearly missed her bus home. Santana’s sprawled on the couch with a book in her lap, open to whatever page she’s supposed to be reading, but her glasses are pushed up on her head and she’s watching the food network instead.

“Hey babe,” she says, pulling her knees up to her chest to give Brittany room to sit next to her. “How was rehearsal?”

“Painful,” Brittany says, stretching her legs out in front of her and then sitting cross-legged so she can pull at her own feet, attempting to get the kinks out.

“C’mere,” Santana says, leaning over the arm of the couch to drop her book on the table, and then reaching to pull Brittany’s feet into her lap and rub them, working her fingers over them slowly and rubbing at all the places they ache, well practiced from years of cheerleading in high school.

Brittany groans with how good it feels and settles her head back into the cushions, letting her eyes flutter closed. “Oh my God, marry me.”

“Sure,” Santana says with a laugh, and even though Brittany’s eyes are closed she can practically hear the self-satisfied smirk she knows is on Santana’s face.

+

The last time Santana asks Brittany to marry her, they’re standing in the middle of their brand new and still empty post-college apartment, with a pile of boxes by the door waiting to be unpacked.

“Where do you want to start?” Brittany asks, eyeing the boxes for a second before she turns back to Santana, and it takes her brain a minute to register the way Santana’s grinning and biting at her bottom lip.

“Here,” Santana says, sinking down so she’s on one knee and pulling a ring box from the inside pocket of her jacket. “I want to start here.”

It’s empty, and Santana smiles shyly when she tugs the silver ring her abuela gave her off her finger and slides it into the ring box in her hand. “I did it wrong before,” she says and Brittany remembers Wyoming and Utah four years before. “And I want to do it right.”

“I said yes when I was six,” Brittany whispers hoarsely, and Santana swallows past the lump in her throat. “Do you want me to say it again?”

Santana nods and Brittany whispers, “Yes,” as she pulls Santana to her feet and kisses her, “Yes,” as she kisses her again, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read this and stayed with it and sent me such lovely comments, both here, on lj and on tumblr. It really means the world to me and I couldn't have done it without you.


End file.
